


The Lady & The Hound

by girloficeandfire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Lady and the Tramp (1955)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Mash-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 22,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girloficeandfire/pseuds/girloficeandfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, now King Consort to Dany, invites his cousin Sansa to King's Landing as a nameday surprise for his Queen. Sansa stays longer than expected, and eventually a familiar face arrives...</p><p>DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, be it the ASOIAF characters and settings or the little thrown-in quotes/lines from Lady & the Tramp. The former belong to GRRM and him alone; the latter to Disney.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1, Scene 1 - JON

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimberlite8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberlite8/gifts).



> SanXsan LJ community commentfic meme prompt: Mashup of Lady and the Tramp and Sansan.
> 
> Please, please excuse anything that seems a bit OOC by remembering that this is a mashup and I had to play with some of the characters to make it work :) Also, I’m going to leave the mashed-up character list until the end so have fun guessing who’s who!

He'd been planning this day for months; he had to, what with King's Landing being so far from Winterfell. "I've a special name day present for you, darling."  
  
"Oh, Jon dear!" Dany lit up. She'd told him not to bother, but he knew that she felt lonely sometimes. He nodded and the guard by the entrance to the throne room pulled the door open. It was a large and ponderous thing, leading to several long moments of build up – and when he called out, "The Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell!" Jon heard Dany gasp in surprise and happiness.  
  
"I know how you like her, darling," Jon bent to whisper in Dany's ear.  
  
"You know that I _love_ her," his wife and queen smiled. "She's just...a perfectly beautiful _lady_."  
  
Sansa approached the Iron Throne, and though she looked a bit pale and drawn - _probably from her travels_ \- she was also beautiful as always, dressed in a golden yellow gown that made her auburn hair shine. She curtsied in front of Jon and Dany, but Dany was having none of it - she stood to greet her husband’s cousin. "I am done with court for today," she announced, descending from on high to take Sansa Stark by the hand.  
  
"Come, Lady Sansa. Over here." And with that they exited through a side door, leaving Jon no choice but to follow. When he found them in the antechamber, Dany was asking Sansa how she fared. "You look tired, Sansa."  
  
"The journey was taxing," Sansa admitted, flashing a weak smile in Jon's direction. "If I could take some rest before dinner..."  
  
"Of course, of course!" Dany turned to him. "I assume you've had a bed chamber made up?"  
  
"In Maegor's, yes."  
  
"Have they lit a fire, then? Winter is not so long gone; once the day wanes it is far too cool."  
  
"I am sure that if she needs one we can have one lit straightaway," Jon replied, sharing a look with Sansa.  
  
"But Jon dear, are you _sure_ she'll be warm enough?" Dany looked to Sansa, despite the fact that her question was directed at Jon, but Sansa only gave the queen an indulgent smile.  
  
"Of course, darling. She's of the North," Jon reminded his wife. He caught a glimmer of amusement in Sansa's eyes, and Dany finally consented to send for a servant to escort the Lady Sansa to her room. Once she was gone, Jon noticed that Dany was staring after Sansa with a look on her face that he only saw once in a great while - the look that she wore when she wasn't sure if she was making the right decision. Jon laid a hand on her shoulder and gave a light squeeze. "Don't worry, darling. She'll go right to sleep, and I'll send someone to wake her well before dinner."  
  
"Thank you so much for inviting her," Dany said, taking hold of his free hand. "I know that it must have taken some...convincing."  
  
 _Ah, so she understands that Sansa has little reason to desire to visit this place._ "Some, yes. But...she is lonesome, at Winterfell. Arya does not often return home...Bran is still north of the Wall, where he belongs...and Rickon is a bit wild, of course. She has her guards, and there are servants and peasants as well, and yet..."  
  
"Will she not wed?" Dany squeezed his hand ever so slightly, and Jon bent to brush a kiss across her lips.  
  
"She seems to be...waiting for someone. Or some _thing_. Or…perhaps she is unable to forget someone from her past. I'm not quite sure which of these is the case."  
  
"Perhaps she's simply had enough of men telling her what to do," Dany said, cocking an eyebrow at him. Jon couldn't help but grimace. _After Joffrey and Littlefinger, I wouldn't blame her._  
  
Sansa did appear more well rested and herself later that evening, and her company clearly gave Dany great joy. When Jon had invited his cousin to King's Landing he'd asked her to stay at least a month, and though Sansa had been a bit reluctant, had avoided making any promises, as the days and then weeks wore on she seemed to be more and more in her element. _She truly belongs at court._ It had helped that he'd agreed to allow Sansa to bring her personal guards, despite the fact that he knew Dany wouldn't care for having _one_ of them to stay - but Sansa wouldn't have made the long voyage without the man and woman who had rescued her from Petyr Baelish and who had been her constant companions since. So they were finally back in King's Landing, all together here for the first time. Himself, Jon Targaryen, legitimized at last; his sister and queen and wife Daenerys Targaryen; his cousin Sansa Stark…and her own personal liberators, Brienne of Tarth, the Warrior Maid...and Jaime Lannister, once called the Kingslayer and now called the City Savior, the man who had kept King's Landing from being melted into ruins by the Mad King's wildfire.  
  
"Have you noticed, darling, how much more pleasant the Red Keep has seemed since Sansa came to visit?" Jon asked Dany one morning over breakfast.  
  
"Yes," Dany agreed, "I just don't know how we ever got along without her."  
  
"She's been here about six weeks now...I think we should get her a gift," Jon heard himself say. He almost laughed; he wasn't even sure where the suggestion had come from. Dany, however, picked up on the idea immediately.  
  
"A necklace, perhaps?" she suggested. "I have the perfect one in mind.”


	2. Act 1, Scene 2 - SANSA

At first, coming to King's Landing had seemed a chore and a trial. She'd not wanted to face a lonely bedchamber in the Red Keep, let alone one in Maegor's Holdfast. Although Rickon was too old to share her bed these days, he often curled up on a small straw pallet on her floor, one he'd insisted be laid there. _He's your baby brother still, in a way, and it's better to share a room with your sibling than to be alone_ , she told herself. She knew that _he_ didn't want to be alone anymore than she did.  
  
But Jon had asked her to come, and he was the King Consort now - husband to the great Dragon Queen who had saved Westeros in every way possible. Besides, he'd asked her to come for _Dany_ ; that, above all else, Sansa could not refuse.  
  
Sansa had been surprised when, after the first few days of anxiety and bad memories had worn themselves out, she'd actually begun to enjoy herself. This was an altogether different court from the one that Cersei and Joffrey had presided over. People respected their Queen, loved her - they no longer cowered in fear or whispered treason in dark corners.  
  
When Dany presented her with the necklace - a diamond the size of a small rock, set in a silver-toned metal that Jon explained was the finest in all the world - Sansa knew that she would stay much, much longer than originally planned.  
  
"My, but it does look perfect," Dany breathed as she clasped the finely worked chain around Sansa's neck. "Silver and white, to remind you of the Northern snows. The good ones - the summer ones."  
  
Sansa brushed her fingers over the beautiful stone, which was of such quality that it seemed nearly translucent, almost like glass. "Thank you, Your Grace," she whispered, unable to form anything more than a simple apology, so pleased that she thought she would cry if she tried to say anything more.  
  
"Thank _you_ , Sansa. Thank you for coming to King's Landing, for keeping me company." Dany took her hand and squeezed it. "That's not all, though. We've decided to hold a tourney. It’s time that you received a truly proper welcome, as Lady of Winterfell and the Warden of the North. The ravens have already flown," she continued, before Sansa could protest, "and the best knights in the kingdom will be here before the month is out."  
  
"Oh, all right," Sansa laughed. "But I do have one request - that Brienne and Ser Jaime be allowed to compete, if they wish it." Brienne was one thing, but Jaime quite another; still, the Queen gave only a moment's pause before agreeing.  
  
"It _is_ a tourney in your honor, after all," Dany shrugged, though her smile did seem to be a bit forced for a moment. Jaime's presence was a trial that the Queen endured for Sansa's sake, she knew, but for some time now Sansa had only felt safe when Brienne and Jaime were with her. There had once been another who made her feel something similar; he was but a distant memory now, though, and often Sansa wondered if that memory was far more fond than it had a right to be.


	3. Act 1, Scene 3 - BRIENNE

She was closing the door to her room in Maegor's - the room right next to that of the woman she was sworn to protect - when she heard someone approaching. Immediately Brienne’s hand went to the hilt of her sword, but when she turned to see that it was Lady Sansa herself, Brienne released her grip and inclined her head in greeting. "Oh, it's you, my lady." Her eyes were drawn to the sparkling gem at Sansa Stark's throat. "Why, what a beautiful new necklace," Brienne said. She knew that Sansa liked to be complimented on such things.  
  
"Do you like it? It was a gift from the Queen."  
  
"Have you shown it to Jaime yet?"  
  
"No...I've not seen him."  
  
"We'd best go at once. You know how sensitive he is about these things." Jaime always liked to know if anything important happened, but he'd been much more staunch about this since they had arrived in King's Landing. "He'll be down in the yard drilling, I think."  
  
As they made their way back down the stairs, Sansa noted, "He drills quite often."  
  
"Aye. He misses those bygone days when he was the greatest swordsman in Westeros, before he lost his hand. It shouldn't have happened to a man like him..." Brienne stopped herself, realized what she was saying. "Gods! Please don't let on that I've been talking about it."  
  
"Of course not," Lady Sansa promised, laying her hand on Brienne's arm to reassure her.  
  
When they reached the yard, they watched Jaime and Ser Jorah of the Queensguard exchanging blows with blunted swords. Ser Jorah was well advanced in his years, even compared to Jaime - but still he was able to match his one-handed opponent blow for blow. When the two men noticed Brienne and Sansa standing at the sidelines, they bowed brusquely to each other. Ser Jorah stalked off in another direction and Jaime approached the women.  
  
"Why, Lady Sansa! Is that a new necklace?" he inquired, his eyes gleaming with something like mischief as he sheathed his sword.  
  
"It is. Dany gave it to me this morning."  
  
"My, my. It seems only yesterday that we arrived and you were nervous and out of place. Now here you are, wearing a gift from the Queen. The greatest honor she could bestow on someone...a badge of respectability."  
  
"Jaime! Lady Sansa was quite respectable before!" Brienne chided, but when she looked at Sansa the other woman was smiling.  
  
"Please excuse me," Sansa said, giving them both lingering looks before turning and heading back toward Maegor's.  
  
"You really shouldn't tease her like that," Brienne said, watching Sansa disappear through one of the arches.  
  
Jaime clapped her on the back. "Ah, she's enjoying herself, Brienne. And we should let her."


	4. Act 1, Scene 4 - SANDOR

He woke as usual in the gray light of dawn, got out of bed and swung open the shutters of his chamber in Clegane Keep. "What a day," he grumbled.  
  
Sandor had received the summons from the Queen yesterday and had been brooding over it ever since. He had never been one for tourneys, but this was to be one of the biggest purses ever offered - fifty thousand gold dragons to the winner of the joust, thirty thousand to the man who took the melee...money he could well use to continue rebuilding Clegane Keep and planting its surrounding fields. Fields he'd worked in all day yesterday, worked so much and so hard that he'd collapsed into bed without even eating dinner. The memory made Sandor's stomach rumble.  
  
 _Best go dig up some breakfast._  
  
He headed down to the kitchens and called for some porridge. The servants in this place were still a bit too quiet and fearful for his liking, but Sandor attributed that to their memories of Gregor and to the fact that he still wasn't exactly accomplished at controlling his anger. _I strike a frightening presence, as well_ , he knew. Huge and scarred as he was, it was difficult to _not_ do so. _Likely impossible._  
  
While he waited for his food Sandor bent over the basket near the hearth where his best hunting bitch was nursing her litter of new puppies. _Cute little rascals_ , he thought, but he refused to say something like that out loud. _Can't let anyone hear, can't let them know your weaknesses._ Still, he scratched the dog and her pups on their heads, letting his hair fall over his face so that the cook wouldn't see his smile if she approached. _Not that your smile is less frightening than anything else about your face._  
  
Once he’d finished his breakfast Sandor knew that it was time for another long day of work. Surprisingly he arrived at the glorified shed that served as the Keep's stables to find that his two squires were already there. When he'd asked around for a likely boy to squire for him, most people had turned up their noses - he was no knight, after all, and a Clegane to boot. But some upstart peasants had brought their sons 'round, and though Sandor had snarled and grumbled about it he hadn't had the heart to send either of them back home.

So he'd ended up with two near-useless boys who certainly didn't seem as if they would ever live up to their names, which were high and mighty ones considering the boys’ low birth. Brandon, named for Bran the Builder, was a stocky, jowly youth of twelve, and Aegon, called so after none other than Aegon the Conqueror, was a lithe boy with thick chestnut hair and a husky voice who used more feminine gestures than most women Sandor had ever known.  
  
 _Except perhaps the little bird._  
  
But there was no use thinking about _her_ just now. Or ever. Oh, he'd heard of her; heard that she'd been "rescued" from Littlefinger by none other than the Kingslayer, heard that she'd returned to Winterfell and was acting as Warden of the North until her brother Rickon was of age. _Received a seven-times-damned letter from the fucking Dragon Queen, to come to King's Landing and compete in a tourney in Lady Sansa Stark's honor._  
  
The boys already had the ox and cart readied and were filling the latter with field tools. "Come to join the party?" Aegon said sarcastically.  
  
"No time for wisecracks," Sandor growled. _Gods, these so-called squires will drive me to murder. Again._ "Let's get this day over with."  
  
The two boys exchanged a glance; Sandor could tell that they wanted to ask him something. "Out with it," he rasped.  
  
"Beg your pardon, m'lord, but see...Aegon and me was wondering...well, we wanted to know if we'd be going to the tourney in King's Landing," Brandon mumbled, scuffing his feet and avoiding Sandor's eyes.  
  
"The tourney, ay? And where did you hear about this?" He didn't know why he bothered asking; news like that letter and this tourney spread fast in a lord's house, especially one so small as Clegane Keep.  
  
"In the kitchens, m'lord," Aegon finally answered.  
  
 _Buggering gossips._ Still, Sandor figured he might as well tell these _squires_ of his the truth. "I'm considering it. Now get to work." The boys smiled stupidly at each other and Sandor turned his back on them, trudging out of the ramshackle little building on his way to repair more of the damage his brother Gregor had done to their _ancestral_ home.


	5. Act 1, Scene 5 - JAIME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, I do have to deviate from the Lady & the Tramp story for a bit here in order to move this fic along and have it actually make sense. But I’ll get back to the mashup as fast as possible, promise! :)

Compete in a _tourney_? What a joke. Of course Brienne had taken Sansa Stark up on the offer, but Brienne had two hands.  
  
 _And you often forget that you don't._  
  
Truth be told, Jaime didn't like the fact that the ghosts of the Red Keep - _his_ ghosts, anyway - haunted him far more than Sansa's ghosts haunted her. She had promised that they would not stay long, yet as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, Jaime began to wonder if they would ever _leave_.  
  
"You are free to go at any time," Brienne had reminded him, but she knew as well as he did that it wasn't quite that easy. _Could_ he go? Of course. But _would_ he...now, that was a different story. He'd been stripped of Casterly Rock, of course - not that he'd ever wanted it in the first place - and obviously he would never again feel comfortable in King's Landing. At least at Winterfell he could spar with Brienne in peace, pretend to scold fierce little Rickon Stark, listen to Sansa when she graced them with her harp playing and singing after dinner many a night.

It amused Jaime that a place that had once seemed so cold and inhospitable had become the place he felt most at home. Amused him...and at times left him feeling somewhat empty.  
  
So it was that on the morning of Lady Sansa Stark's tourney, Brienne of Tarth suited up to compete while Jaime Lannister had the _honor_ to stand by their lady's side and guard her. From what, he had no idea, as Ser Jorah and the rest of the Queensguard were present as well...but Sansa had requested that if he did not want to joust, he stay with her…and so here he was.  
  
Gone were the days of Barristan the Bold, of the Knight of Flowers, of Robert Baratheon taking the melee with his warhammer...yet this new crop of men, despite being of a different sort, had their own sort of rough-around-the-edges talent. There was even a mystery knight, and for a moment Jaime wondered if perhaps he was an intelligent ploy thought up by the Dragon Queen or by Lady Sansa's cousin the King Consort...until he realized that they seemed as surprised as anyone at the hulk of a man in plain steel plate who unhorsed one man after another - _well, and one woman,_ Jaime snorted when the mystery knight bested Brienne as well.  
  
Sansa was certainly enjoying herself - she was nearly on the edge of her seat, her eyes shining, looking for all the world like the girl he'd never truly known and nothing like the sad, withdrawn woman she'd become. Jaime found himself wondering if maybe he should have competed...this mystery knight was big, but something about the way he struck with the lance made Jaime think that even one-handed he could have possibly withstood the man. And then Sansa's being named Queen of Love and Beauty would have been a sure thing, for even if Jaime had cared to name anyone else, the beating he would have taken from Brienne in doing so wouldn't have been worth it, anyway.  
  
 _Ahh, who are you kidding, thinking that any other woman here would be worth the title? Even Cersei never rivaled Sansa Stark in beauty._ Sansa was as fierce and as intelligent as Cersei had ever been, with an ingrained kindness and soft heart that his twin sister hadn't had.  
  
It went without saying that Daenerys Targaryen was lucky that by the time she’d returned to Westeros, all Sansa Stark had wanted was _home._


	6. Act 1, Scene 6 - SANSA

She didn't know why, but Sansa felt something like _nervous_ when the morning of her tourney finally arrived. She hadn't attended a tournament - not a proper one, anyway - since the one held here in King's Landing when her father had been named Hand of the King. Perhaps that was why she felt so unsettled, but it seemed that there was something deeper involved as well. A sort of knowledge that things were changing around her...and how could they not, with so many faces, both new and familiar, arriving in King's Landing to honor her?  
  
The Tyrells had returned, for one. Much the poorer thanks to their involvement with the Lannisters, but in the end Dany had pardoned them nonetheless. The Queen of Thorns was still alive, with Arryk and Erryk by her side. Loras, still unmarried and scarred worse than Sandor Clegane had been, escorted his sister Margaery, who was now three times a widow, having lost Joffrey the night of their wedding, Tommen during Dany's seige of King's Landing, and her third husband - some minor lord who she chose of her own accord and much to her family’s chagrin - to illness. Myranda Royce - no, Myranda Corbray these days, having wed the last surviving man of that family, Lucas - came calling as well, but Sansa suspected that Randa was not so fond of her now that she knew the secrets she'd kept while playing at being Alayne Stone.  
  
All in all, it was nothing if not a nerve-wracking time...but still she was happy with Jon and Dany, at least, and when the tournament came she laughingly bestowed her favor upon Brienne and told her that she better not let the gnats get the best of her. _Gnats...that was someone else's word once..._ Unbidden, a memory came to Sansa. Ser Dontos drunk and stumbling, Joffrey ordering his death, her speaking up for him, and the Hound...the Hound...  
  
Her reveries were interrupted when a tilt was announced - the younger Tarly, brother to Jon's friend Samwell who was Winterfell's Maester now - and a _mystery knight_. Suddenly on the edge of her seat, Sansa could not decide who to cheer for - the sweet boy who'd been knighted so recently, or the large man in plain armor who bore no crest on his shield. She decided to remain silent, for she liked Dickon well enough, but a mystery knight, a mystery knight _at her own tourney_...  
  
He won that tilt, this silent man in gray plate - that one, and the next, and the next. Late in the day he even unhorsed Brienne, and when he dismounted and picked up the favor that had been torn from Brienne's broken lance, he looked toward Sansa, and she felt a chill go up her spine.


	7. Act 1, Scene 7 - JON

The rest of the jousting was left for the following day, once this mystery knight had defeated over two-thirds of the men entered. Jon left Dany and Sansa with Ser Jorah and promised to see them at the feast. He had a notion as to who this man was, but he wanted to be sure...  
  
"The lists, please," he demanded of Ser Gendry, new castellan at the Red Keep. Confused, the young man - _no, not young; near my age, in years at least_. Jon poured over the names. Some he recognized, many he didn't, but one very conspicuous person was missing entirely.  
  
"Sandor Clegane did not enter?" he asked. The idea had been Dany's, not his - she had no love for the man, but he was head of the Clegane house now, fully pardoned for his crimes thanks to an impassioned testimony by the Elder Brother of the Quiet Isle.  
  
"He can't not receive a summons," Dany had insisted. "And if he does come...well, it's high time that Sansa know where he is, what he's doing. She'll eventually hear that he did not die, and remember what Arya told us."  
  
 _Arya._ His wild little sister - _no, cousin_ \- had been one of the first to visit them in King's Landing, had been there when the Elder Brother brought Sandor Clegane before them. Arya had already told Sansa of her time with the Hound, and Sansa had insisted that he had never done her harm, had even thought to spirit her away from the Lannisters after the Battle of the Blackwater...  
  
"But I'll not tell Sansa he's alive," was Arya's fierce promise. "It's better this way. For her." There was something in her eyes, then, that made Jon understand that she would brook no argument on this, and he had promised not to reveal to Sansa that the Hound lived...but Dany was right. Eventually Sansa would find out, especially if she spent much more time at court.

Now that the first day’s activities were over, Jon wondered if the mystery knight would reveal himself at the feast that very evening, but the man never showed - apparently he was intent on his farce. And though Jon had his suspicions, he could not be sure, and until he _was_ sure there was no point in discussing anything with Sansa.

He would keep his promise to Arya for as long as he could. For as long as he _had_ to.


	8. Act 1, Scene 8 - SANDOR

He'd seen her immediately, of course...her auburn hair shining in the sun, looking older, more a woman and a lady than ever…and still beautiful. Sandor had had to put her out of his mind or risk not winning the gold that he needed so very much, needed for Clegane Keep, needed for his fields and yes, even for his people. Brandon and Aegon were excited – as only young boys could be – about the prospect of him playing at mystery knight, and he'd not let the little rascals down.  
  
It wasn't until he unhorsed the big oaf in sapphire-blue plate that Sandor began to question why he was truly there. He saw the scrap of white satin flutter on the ground, and when he picked it up and discovered the gray direwolf emblazoned on the corner a knot formed in his stomach. _Her favor._  
  
She'd given this man her favor.  
  
He'd looked up to her then and saw her watching him, but he merely crumpled the bit of satin in his hand and stomped from the field. _Fool_. Dog _. How could coming here as a mystery knight have made any difference at all?_  
  
"Will we go to the feast tonight?" Aegon asked hopefully when Sandor arrived back at the stables where they'd set up camp.  
  
"No," he growled. "I'm a mystery knight, remember? Have to remain one until this damned tournament is over."  
  
"Tomorrow night, then?" Brandon piped in, but Sandor only answered him with a glare.  
  
The next day was as easy as the first. Sandor had never thought himself a tourney man, but the best of those were dead or useless these days - like Jaime Lannister himself, standing there behind Sansa Stark, her _guard_ now. The man in blue was there as well, but when he stepped out of the shadows, bending down to whisper in the little bird's ear, Sandor nearly laughed his own fool head off.  
  
The man in blue wasn't a man at all, but a _woman_.  
  
Suddenly the day didn't seem a total waste. When Sandor tilted next, he smashed his opponent into the ground with even more force than he'd used earlier that morning or the day before. And the one after that, and the one after _that_...until he was alone on the field, and Queen Daenerys was standing to pronounce the mystery knight the tourney champion. But before she could ask that he reveal himself, Sandor rode forward and plucked the crown of winter roses from where it hung in front of the Queen's platform. He wasn't sure what had come over him, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this, he must do. He reined his destrier up in front of Sansa Stark and held out the flowers, hoping that they could not see how his hand trembled when she stepped toward him to pluck the crown from his grasp.  
  
"Will you not reveal yourself to me, then, my mystery knight?" the little bird asked, a small smile playing across her lips...but before he could respond, before he could obey her and remove his helm as every bit of him was calling for him to do, Jon Targaryen stepped forward.  
  
"Let him have his fun just a little while longer, Sansa dear. He can reveal himself to us this evening, in private, before the feast...and then we will give him a champion's introduction."  
  
 _Little bugger_ , Sandor thought, but he could feel the weight of Jon's gaze on him and knew then that the King Consort suspected who he was. With a jerk of his head, Sandor turned his horse and rode away, wondering if it wouldn't be best for him to simply collect his gold and be gone from this place sooner rather than later.


	9. Act 1, Scene 9 - BRIENNE

"I would have you go to this mystery knight and assure that he shows himself in Maegor's before the feast tonight," Jon Targaryen requested.  
  
"Why...why _me_?" This made little and less sense to Brienne. "Why not send Ser Jorah or another of the Queensguard? My place is with Lady Sansa."  
  
"Precisely; it must be one of _her_ people who goes to this man," was the King Consort's response.  
  
"Has Lady Sansa requested that we do so?" Now Brienne was more concerned than confused. She could understand why Sansa would be curious to determine the knight's identity, but she put too much weight on propriety to send someone to order his presence at the feast, let alone to order him to come to Maegor's beforehand.  
  
"She has not, but it must be you all the same."  
  
"Me? Not Ser Jaime?"  
  
"No, Brienne. Not Ser Jaime." Jon's tone spoke of finality, and Brienne nodded her consent. _When has asking too many questions ever gotten you anything more or less than trouble?_

Jon told her where to find the man and off she went to do her duty, though she felt that in this particular case, her duty was more for the King Consort than for her Lady.  
  
Two peasant boys who were apparently supposed to be the mystery knight's squires were tying down saddlebags when Brienne arrived at the stables to find the man himself. "I must speak with your knight," she announced, laying her hand on her sword hilt and hoping that she sounded more authoritative than she felt.  
  
"Pardons, m'lady, but he's not a knight," the stout boy replied, and the other one cuffed him over the head.  
  
"He's not here," the second boy said in a husky yet slightly feminine voice. Brienne cocked an eyebrow at him, sure that he was lying…but before she could respond the huge mystery knight stepped out from the shadows.  
  
"What's this about?" he rasped, and all Brienne could think to say just then was " _You!"_ She made to draw her sword, but Sandor Clegane's burnt mouth twitched and he merely crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"I gather that you know who I am," he chuckled, his eyes gleaming, as if daring her to say more. "Have no fear, wench. I've collected my gold and I'll be leaving the city post haste." He turned to go, and Brienne suddenly recalled why she'd been sent. She didn't understand what Jon Targaryen was about, yet still she must do as ordered.  
  
"No," she said. "You're to come with me. To Maegor's, and then to the feast, I suppose. The King Consort demands-"  
  
"Does he now? He _demands_? He thinks I'm still a dog who comes when called?" Clegane leaned against the lintel of the stable door, his mouth stretching into something of a sneer.  
  
"I'm not sure _what_ he is thinking," Brienne admitted, "but I was told to fetch you all the same. He insisted it be me, in fact...insisted that it be one of Lady Sansa's people sent to you. And I'd prefer you to come without a fight," she added.  
  
The Hound stared at her for a long moment. "So he sent one of Lady Sansa's _people_ , did he? If this is about that Queen of Love and Beauty nonsense, I only did what was expected - "  
  
"I'm not sure that's quite it," Brienne interrupted. "Now will you come willingly, or must I call for Ser Jaime or some of the Queensguard to assist me in escorting you to Maegor's?"  
  
Sandor Clegane glanced at the boys, at the horses who were near ready to flee, and Brienne wondered if he would take this time to knock her down and be gone from this place before she could even raise the alarm...but as she prepared herself for the worst case scenario, she was surprised when the Hound made a sound like a growl low in his throat and agreed, "Aye. I'll come. Though I'm not sure _willingly_ is the way I'd put it."


	10. Act 1, Scene 10 - SANSA

"He'll be here very soon, dear," Dany promised, clasping Sansa's hands in hers. Sansa forced a smile for the Queen's sake, wondering - not for the first time - if she truly wanted to know who this mystery knight was. Something about him was so _familiar_ , familiar in a way that made her heart ache. She knew that it was because he somehow reminded her of a man she'd once known, a man who had been harsh and angry yet who had tried to save her all the same. A man of whom she'd never stopped dreaming.  
  
A man who'd been dead for nearly half a dozen years.  
  
Yet Jon had arranged for Brienne to bring the mystery knight to them, and by the time she'd thought to protest the warrior maid had already left to collect him. There was no going back now.  
  
She stood at the window of the small receiving chamber, gazing out over the Red Keep and trying to keep her nerves at bay. When she heard the door open, Sansa had to take several deep breaths to calm herself before turning to face her champion, the man who had crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty - but nothing could have prepared her for the ghost who lifted his face and regarded her with those stormy gray eyes that she remembered all too well.  
  
"No," she gasped. _"No._ "  
  
"I told you this wasn't a good idea," Sandor snarled to Brienne, but before he could say another word Sansa rushed at him and began pounding her small, weak fists against his chest.  
  
"You're supposed to be _dead_ ," she cried. "They told me you were dead, I...I _mourned_ for you..." Tears were streaming down her face, unbidden, but she did not bother trying to wipe them away - and then he wrapped his large, calloused, _familiar_ hands about her wrists and drew her toward him, bending his head to hers, so close that she could feel his breath warm on her face, though it smelled _different_ and she realized that he didn't reek of wine as he had in the past.  
  
"No, little bird. Not dead. Never dead."  
  
"Leave us," Sansa ordered, and when her cousin and her Queen and her guard hesitated, she said it again, louder this time. _"Leave us."_ They obeyed, though Jon leveled his gaze on Sandor and warned, "We'll be just outside," before following his wife and Brienne out of the room.  
  
Once they were gone, Sandor released her wrists, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching madly. "You don't seem happy to see me, little bird," he rasped.  
  
"You dare to _tease_ me?" Sansa hissed in response, rubbing her wrists. He hadn't hurt her, but the warmth of his touch lingered like an all-too pleasant burn. "All these years...where have you _been_?" _Why didn't you come to me_ , she wanted to ask, _why didn't you at least send a raven to let me know that you were still alive..._  
  
"That's quite the long story, and not one I have time to tell. I was ordered to reveal myself to you here, and to attend the feast tonight, but tomorrow I return to Clegane Keep. My brother left quite a mess behind for me to pick up, you see."  
  
"Clegane...Clegane Keep? You...you were allowed..." This made little and less sense. If Sandor had been allowed to retain his family seat, that must mean -  
  
"Allowed? Aye, I suppose you could say that. A year past, maybe more, I was brought to King's Landing by a friend, sent before your Dragon Queen and offered a full pardon. For the crimes I didn't commit, and the ones I did. Your dear _King Consort_ never told you? Your sister Arya, either?"  
  
"Arya?" she whispered, more confused than ever.  
  
"Yes, Arya, Arya, your little wolf-bitch sister. She happened to be here as well, even spoke on my behalf...in her own way. So none of them told you I lived, told you I'd been sent to rebuild the _home_ my brother left me? Seven hells, they even summoned me here to this tourney in your honor, little bird. They've been keeping quite a bit from you, haven't they?"  
  
Sansa spun away from him and stalked back to the window, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over again. The silence stretched between them, but even as she let it, she knew what she wanted.  
  
"You will stay," Sansa stated.  
  
"What's that, little bird?" She could tell by the tone of his voice that he'd heard her, and Sansa turned to face him again, her resolve only strengthening when he stepped closer, towering over her, making her wonder what it would be like to feel his hands on her again...  
  
"Until I get to the bottom of this...until I hear your story, until I learn why they kept these secrets...you will stay. Here. In King's Landing. In the Red Keep, in fact." As an afterthought, she added, "Please."  
  
Sandor Clegane laughed then, and for a moment she was unsure what meaning there was behind his mirth. Until he replied, "Still the little bird, chirping her empty courtesies. But I suppose, since you asked so politely...I'll stay."


	11. Act 1, Scene 11 - SANDOR

_She thought that I was dead._  
  
He didn't know whether to be furious with the Dragon Queen and the King Consort and that seven-times-damned she-wolf Arya Stark, or relieved that the little bird didn't hate him. How could he ever explain to her that he hadn't gone to her because he assumed that was the case?  
  
Should he even bother _trying_ to explain?  
  
She'd told him to stay, after all. Some part of her _wanted_ him to stay...why, he couldn't fathom, but did the _why_ really matter just now?  
  
 _She wants me to stay._ He would have grinned, if he didn't know that doing so made him even uglier.  
  
"You're to sit by me at the feast, you know," the little bird chirped, softly. As if she thought he wouldn't want to, as if she had no idea that just now he wanted so much more, wanted her to touch him again, even if her touch was just her pathetic little fists beating on his chest with an anger he never knew she could possess.  
  
Instead he replied, "If it's what I must do, then." Why he said such a thing, he wasn't sure, and when he did she turned toward him, and she was standing so close that it would take just one quick grab to have her in his arms, to kiss her as he'd thought about doing so many times...back in King's Landing, when she was half a child, and he knew he couldn't kiss her for that very reason...and then later, when he dreamed of her, first on the Quiet Isle as he fought the fever brought on by his leg wound...and later, as well, when his mind had conjured up visions of what would happen should he ever see her again.  
  
Sansa Stark reached up toward his face, then, her movement startling him into action. Sandor took hold of her wrist again to keep her from touching him, regretting it for a moment when he saw how her chin trembled as her Tully-blue eyes seemed to look right through him. She shocked him by moving closer, her head tilted up just slightly, _just enough_ -  
  
And as he bent toward her, thinking he _would_ kiss her, just once, figuring that if she hit him or yelled at him he could claim to be taking his champion's reward, the door swung open and Sandor heard Jon Targaryen clear his throat. "We'd best be on our way to the feast."  
  
 _Damn him,_ Sandor thought as the little bird swiftly pulled herself from his grip and moved around him. "Yes, of course," she said, her voice shrill with...with what? Certainly she hadn't _wanted..._  
  
Sandor sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes against the stab of lust that had risen in him, a feeling he'd not experienced in quite some time. Years, most like.  
  
"Will Clegane be accompanying you, then?" the Queen asked, and behind her smile he could see that she was concerned - about him, his presence, and its effect on the little bird. Sansa glanced back over her shoulder.  
  
"Yes," she stated, finality in her tone. He grunted, nodded, and followed them from the room.


	12. Act 1, Scene 12 - JAIME

He was waiting behind Sansa's seat when she was announced, but despite the fact that he'd known there was something familiar about that mystery knight, Jaime had never expected the man by her side to be the _Hound_.  
  
"The Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, acting Warden of the North, escorted by the tournament champion Sandor Clegane."  
  
The mutters and gasps that arose from those in attendance proved that Jaime was not the only one shocked at the mystery knight's true identity. Brienne stalked in at Sansa's heels, looking uncomfortable as usual, and the whispers of the crowd were only drowned out when the Queen and her husband entered next. The five of them made their way to the high table, and Jaime quickly grabbed a passing servant. "Wine," he hissed, "and plenty of it. Do not let my lady's cup go dry tonight, do you hear me?" He _would_ have her fortified against this, if that's what she desired. He could see that Sansa was stiff, unsure, her hand in the crook of Sandor Clegane's arm as it was supposed to be, but whether she _wanted_ to be touching him...to be escorted by him...  
  
 _No,_ Jaime decided. _She can't._ Joffrey's dog, _Cersei's_ dog, attending Sansa Stark's tournament in disguise, _winning_ the damn thing, crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty...what sort of mockery was this? And what in Westeros was _Brienne_ about, why was she _allowing_ this?  
  
As soon as Sansa and the Hound were seated and Brienne was at his side, Jaime grabbed hold of her and pulled her close. "What do you know of this?" he growled.  
  
Brienne looked at him, frustrated. "The King Consort sent me to fetch him. I...I had no idea..."  
  
"Is it some sort of cruel joke?" Jaime didn't want to believe it, but with what he knew of royalty, of _Targaryens..._  
  
"I don't...I don't _think_ so...the Queen...the King Consort...they seem to have concerns as well..."  
  
Jaime snorted. "They're not concerned enough. Don't they know what she must have suffered at his hands?" Brienne's eyes went wide and she chewed on her lip; frustrated, Jaime turned away to keep an eye on Sansa and Sandor Clegane. The servant he had accosted was certainly doing his job - Sansa's cup of wine rarely had to touch her lips more than a few times before it was refilled. The Hound, on the other hand...he barely seemed to touch his drink. He sat hunched over, his shoulders stiff, his meal only half-devoured...he was somehow the same man Jaime had known all those years ago, dogging Joffrey's heels, and yet completely different.


	13. Act 1, Scene 13 - SANSA

For a moment, back in the audience chamber, she'd thought that Sandor was actually going to _kiss_ her. What seemed like a million questions had rushed through her head...did she want him to? Would she kiss him back? Or would she do the proper thing - act affronted, push him away, call for Jon or Brienne?  
  
In the end it hadn’t mattered; Jon had entered and insisted that they make for the feast, and though she entered the Great Hall on Sandor's arm he moved stiffly when she was touching him, keeping his distance, speaking not a single word...he hadn't even _looked_ at her. And this behavior continued as they ate, which caused Sansa to nervously pick up her cup of wine so often that by the time the feast was over she knew that she was quite drunk. The Queen and King Consort took their leave, and soon the other guests trickled out as well, many of them sending curious glances her way, surely wondering the same things they had been wondering all night...about Sandor Clegane, what he was doing here, what he was doing with _her_.  
  
 _Let them look,_ Sansa thought wickedly. _Let them wonder. In fact..._  
  
She turned and beckoned Jaime and Brienne to her. "You may both go, if you'd like. Sandor can see me to my chambers." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sandor start, yet still he didn't look at her, didn't even turn toward her.  
  
Brienne only stared at her, wide-eyed, while Jaime glanced suspiciously at Sandor, then back at Sansa. She smiled and mouthed the word "Go" - thankfully, her faithful guards took it for the command that it was. With a curt bow Jaime took his leave, practically dragging Brienne after him, and looking around at the handful of guests and servants still present Sansa was suddenly reminded of another feast, after another tournament. She peeked at Sandor, hunched over his still-full cup of wine, and wondered if maybe this hadn't been the best idea.  
  
"I used to have to force you to look at me, and now you won't stop," Sandor suddenly grumbled. Sansa flushed red and averted her eyes, though strangely enough part of her thrilled at the fact that he had finally spoken to her. "And what's this about my having to escort you to your chambers? Surely you can find your own way there. You're not a child anymore."  
  
The wine must have given her courage, for Sansa couldn't stop herself from snapping, "Oh, so you've noticed?"  
  
Sandor turned toward her then, and Sansa wondered if she imagined that his gray eyes raked her from waist to face before his half-ruined mouth twisted into what was likely supposed to be a smile. "Aye, little bird, I've noticed. I thought that was clear earlier."  
  
 _He's not even had anything to drink..._  
  
But she had. Too much, in fact, so much that she knew it was past time for her to find her way to bed. "I think it's time for me to...to lie down," Sansa stuttered. She stood, wondering for just a moment if he would truly make her find her way to her chambers by herself...but no, Sandor stood as well, and when she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow he didn't protest.  



	14. Act 1, Scene 14 - BRIENNE

_Should I wait for her outside our chambers?_ Brienne wondered as she followed Jaime from the Great Hall. A glance back showed Sansa taking another drink from her wine cup and glancing at Sandor Clegane out of the corner of her eyes, but the Hound remained as he was. Barely eating, not drinking his wine at all, and certainly not looking at the lady beside him. They were the strangest pair Brienne had ever seen, but then.... _they aren't a_ pair _...not really..._ she reminded herself. She'd watched Lady Sansa place her hand on Sandor Clegane's arm earlier, so that he could escort her into the feast as was his champion's due...but even then he'd walked like a man on edge.

And the drinking...Sansa rarely drank; Jaime had once mentioned that he thought perhaps wine reminded her of Littlefinger, though there was no real proof of that. Yet tonight her lips had touched her wine cup far more than they had touched any food. Lady Sansa had to be drunk just now, that much was certain. The fact that they had left her in the Great Hall with Sandor Clegane did not sit well with Brienne. Not at all.  
  
"Are you sure we should have left her there?" she asked Jaime, once the doors had shut behind them.  
  
He shrugged. "She insisted."  
  
"But...alone...with _him_..."  
  
"You know as well as I that Sansa can take care of herself. I don't like it anymore than you do, Brienne, but for whatever reason that is what she wanted. To be alone with him."  
  
"He ignored her throughout the entire meal."  
  
"You're as observant as ever," Jaime chuckled. Brienne thought for a moment about punching him, but then decided it would seem too playful, would be out of line. Instead she grunted her frustration and remained silent. Jaime's room was a turn below hers and Lady Sansa's, and before he left her side he placed his hand on her shoulder and bid her face him. "Go to bed, Brienne. Sansa...she is a woman, has been since before we knew her, forced to grow up far too quickly. We treat her as such at Winterfell, we should treat her as such here."  
  
Brienne glanced at his hand, then back at his face. "All right," she agreed, and then his touch was gone and she had no choice but to nod a quick goodnight and make her way up to her own chambers. She paused for a moment, wondering if she really shouldn't wait in the hall...but then she recalled the earnest look in Jaime's eyes, and took his words to heart.


	15. Act 1, Scene 15 - SANDOR

The little bird was drunk. Drunk, and unsteady on her feet.  
  
He'd only considered not escorting her to her chambers for a moment, anyway. Or had he considered it at all? As she placed her hand in the crook of his arm again, Sandor wasn't quite sure anymore.  
  
The stares and the whispers followed them out of the Great Hall, but he cared no more now than he ever had. No. He cared _less_. Especially as they walked, and Sansa Stark leaned against him, just slightly. Just enough. For a few minutes she was silent, but he should have known this wouldn't last.  
  
"Thank you for escorting me," the little bird chirped, and Sandor heard himself chuckle. _Why?_  
  
"It's my duty, is it not?" _Again, why? Why do you say the things you say, dog?_  
  
Sansa Stark drew a deep breath. "It is your _right_ , as tourney champion," she replied coldly, her hand suddenly clenching at his arm in what could only be anger. Sandor halted, then, and pushed her up against the wall, imprisoning her there with his arms. He saw something like fright flicker in her eyes, but it was gone nearly as soon as it appeared.  
  
"Why do you care that I am alive?" he growled. "Why would you have me stay here in King's Landing?"  
  
She stared back at him in defiance. "Why did you come here at all? Why did you allow Brienne to bring you to the Red Keep, when you could have fled?"  
  
 _You_ , he thought. _You_. And if that was his answer to her questions, was it possible that her answers to his would be something...similar?  
  
Again she was there before him, _so close_ , her head tilted up to look him in the face as best she could. He could smell the wine on her breath, and it made him regret having not drunk any himself.  
  
 _And if you had..._  
  
The last time Sandor had been as close to her as he was now, as close to her as he had been in the receiving chamber earlier, he'd been drunk. He'd fallen asleep in her bed, and when she'd returned to her chambers he'd held a knife to her throat and forced her to sing for him. This was not much different, practically pinning her between him and the wall, keeping her there against her will.  
  
Disgusted with himself, Sandor dropped his arms to his side and stepped back, wondering if she would hit him - or even worse, if she would simply run from him. But Sansa Stark did neither of those things. Instead she reached up, pressing one hand to his smooth cheek and the other to the scarred side of his face, and before he could think to tear away from her grasp she covered his mouth with hers.


	16. Act 2, Scene 1 - JON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said I'd eventually get back to the mashup idea, and that's right about now :)

Though Sansa seemed slightly more on edge since Sandor Clegane's arrival, in general Jon didn't have the time to worry about her. Not now that Dany had sat him down after the tourney feast and explained to him that she was - _finally_ \- with child. He saw then how much more tired she looked than usual, and his heart clenched with worry. Dany had been honest with him about the _maegi_ Mirri Maz Duur and the end of her first pregnancy; neither of them quite knew what Dany's current situation could mean, or what would come of it.  
  
But they had hope.  
  
When Sansa came to call the morning after the feast, looking cautiously elated, Jon felt bad that he had to turn her away, that the only explanation he could give was that Dany was indisposed.  
  
"Who was that?" Dany called as he shut the door on his cousin.  
  
"Just Sansa, darling."  
  
The following morning Sansa came again, but this time Dany reached the door before he did.  
  
"Good morning, Your Grace," Sansa smiled, curtsying. "I was hoping we could have one of our walks today?"  
  
Dany glanced back at him, her expression unsure, and Jon was forced to give a barely-perceptible shake of his head. "No, Lady Sansa. No walk today," Dany sighed, and dismissed her friend as quickly as was possible. Once Sansa was gone, Dany approached and curled up in Jon's lap. "I feel that she needs us now more than ever, dear. If I may not walk with her, couldn't I entrust her with our secret and sit quietly here in the royal apartments and simply...converse with her?"  
  
"Darling, you know that it is truly your choice...but I believe that we should be careful in sharing this news and even more careful regarding what you are exposed to..." Jon made a helpless gesture. He was concerned about his wife and he felt bad for Sansa, but really, what could be done?  
  
"I know you're right...it's just...the thought of her having no other company but her guards and Sandor Clegane..."  
  
"Ser Jaime and Brienne are utterly devoted to Sansa, darling, and you yourself insisted on inviting Clegane to compete in the tourney," Jon felt the need to remind Dany.  
  
"Yes, I did," she admitted, "but I must be honest, I did not expect Sansa to react quite like this to his being alive."  
  
Jon knew that Daenerys made a good point. Already the whispers had reached them that Sansa had dismissed her guards and allowed Clegane to escort her back to her chambers after the feast, and yesterday the Hound had called on Lady Sansa and spent all afternoon and evening with her in one of the receiving chambers here in Maegor’s Holdfast. Not a word had been spoken of anything untoward happening between them, yet it did not - _could_ not - go unnoticed that Sansa Stark desired and apparently even _enjoyed_ Sandor Clegane's company.  
  
But there was nothing to be done just now. At the moment Jon's main concern must be his wife and their unborn child, and that was that.  
  



	17. Act 2, Scene 2 - SANSA

Gods, how she blushed every time she recalled kissing Sandor the night of the feast. The wine had given her the courage to do it, though deep down she thought he'd wanted it as well…and after all, he hadn't pushed her away. No, when she'd pressed her lips to his there had been only a moment's hesitation on Sandor's part before he'd wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her against him, brushing his tongue across her mouth, inviting her to open for him...and she had, and though at first the kiss was a bit awkward - likely he knew as little about the act as she did - soon enough their tongues were moving in unison, and she found herself leaning into him and wondering... _wanting_...  
  
 _No. Not here. Not like this_ , Sansa had realized, and she had broken away from Sandor then, both of them breathing raggedly in the wake of their passionate embrace. "I think I should go to my chambers now," she mumbled, averting her eyes.  
  
"What, the little bird doesn't want to play anymore?" Sandor had snarled, but she'd heard the hurt beneath the cruelty in his voice.  
  
Sansa wasn't quite sure how to answer him. "That's not...I...this isn't... _proper_ ," she had finished lamely. Sandor's laugh had been a loud, harsh bark, but when she had finally glared up at him something in his eyes had seemed to soften.  
  
"So you want this to be 'proper'?" he'd asked, and when Sansa had forced herself to nod, he'd taken her hand and tucked it back into the crook of his arm. Sandor had left her at the door to her bedchamber, but not before she'd extracted a promise that he would call on her the following day.  
  
Unfortunately, when he arrived it was not long after Jon had dismissed her with news of Dany's not feeling well, and Sansa found herself worried for her friend and Queen and also a bit frustrated with Jon's attitude. "Just Sansa," she muttered to herself several times that day. Jaime and Brienne eyed her strangely, but Sandor seemed content to sit and listen while she practiced the high harp in hopes of alleviating her fears and annoyance. As it would not have been seemly to dismiss her guards every time she saw him, that first day with Sandor was one of quiet companionship - yet Sansa found that she liked that. _Very much._  
  
The following day, however, she didn't do quite as good of a job at hiding her chagrin over being denied seeing Queen Daenerys a second time. Had Jon or Dany just given Sansa a reason for not wanting her company, she knew she would have felt much better...but they did no such thing, and this day Jaime and Brienne did not keep their concern for her to themselves.  
  
"Lady Sansa, is something wrong?" Brienne asked when Sansa returned from the royal chambers, downtrodden and quiet.  
  
"Aye, tell us, Sansa. If _someone_ has been mistreating you..." Jaime didn't need to finish his threat.  
  
"Oh, no, Ser Jaime. It's something I've done, I guess..."  
  
"You?" was Brienne's shocked response.  
  
"It must be...Jon and Dany...they're acting so..."  
  
"The Queen and the King Consort?"  
  
"Hush, Brienne. Now Sansa, get on with the details."  
  
She told them of going to visit Dany and of Jon's dismissal the morning before. "'Just Sansa', he said. He's never talked of me like that before..."  
  
"I wouldn't worry about that, Sansa. They're only human, after all. Perhaps the Queen isn't feeling well, and your cousin is just worried about her."  
  
"Yes, but then today I thought to walk with Dany, as we have been doing as of late...and she dismissed me just as Jon did yesterday."  
  
Jaime and Brienne exchanged a look. "Now, Sansa, don't take it too seriously. After all, at a time like this..."  
  
"Why, yes. You see, Lady Sansa," Brienne interrupted, "We've...heard something."  
  
"Heard something?" Sansa inquired.  
  
"You don't know? Well, then, uh..."  
  
"What Brienne is trying to say, Sansa, is that we've heard that the Queen may be expecting."  
  
"Expecting?"  
  
"A baby, Lady Sansa," Brienne finished for Jaime.  
  
"A baby?" Sansa heard herself ask in wonder. "Are you certain?"  
  
"Certain?" Brienne repeated. "Well, not quite...but the servants overhear things..."  
  
"And we overhear them," Jaime said with a chuckle. "So you see, it's nothing _you've_ done. Perhaps they'll announce it soon, and you can share in their joy."  
  
"Joy?" Sandor rasped from the doorway. He was leaning against the lintel, his mouth quirked up into an ugly smirk. "Trouble, more like."  
  
"Who are you to barge in?" Brienne said, obviously affronted.  
  
"The voice of experience, wench. If the Dragon Queen is with child, she'll not have time for the little bird here. Not like before. And it will be worse when the babe comes, mark my words."  
  
Sansa didn't like Sandor's words just then, didn't _want_ to mark them...but he'd always been so truthful with her before. _Too much so,_ said a niggling little voice in her head, but she ignored it.  
  
"Sansa has no need for dogs and their radical ideas," Jaime snapped.  
  
"All right, Kingslayer."  
  
"Ser Jaime to you," Jaime replied menacingly.  
  
"All right, all right. But remember this, little bird," Sandor warned, "Kings and Queens only have so much room for affection."  
  
"Enough," Sansa sighed. "Jaime, Brienne, please leave us." _And to hell with propriety._ Her guards reluctantly left the room, and when Sandor stepped aside to let them go Sansa stood and shut the door behind them. Sandor moved as if to take up the chair he'd occupied the day before, but Sansa turned and laid a hand on his arm. If this news was true, if Queen Daenerys really was with child, Sansa didn't belong here. Sandor had said he would stay in King's Landing with her, and he had not specified any short length of time. Would he perhaps return to Winterfell with her as well?  
  
 _He has a home of his own now,_ she suddenly remembered. _Clegane Keep is his._ She knew from his brief mentions of the place that he meant to rebuild it, as well.  
  
She could not ask him to come to Winterfell with her.


	18. Act 2, Scene 3 - JAIME

Soon enough it was confirmed - Queen Daenerys was pregnant. The court fluttered with excitement, but all Jaime could think about was the last Queen who had borne children for the King and the realm...yet the children she'd delivered had been _his_.   
  
After those first few days of concern, during which the Queen and King Consort kept to themselves and refused even Sansa's company, the Red Keep returned to something resembling normalcy. The main difference was that Queen Daenerys was far less active than she had been, and Jaime couldn't help but grumble when he pulled guard duty for Sansa and was forced to escort her to the Queen's receiving chambers and listen to Olenna and Margaery Tyrell, the Queen's handmaids from Essos, and even Sansa herself dote on the Dragon Queen.  
  
"Dany, I've never seen you look more beautiful," Sansa exclaimed - often.  
  
"Isn't she absolutely radiant?" Olenna would simper.  
  
"Radiant! Why, that's just what I told Loras yesterday. 'Loras,' I said, 'Queen Daenerys looks radiant. Positively radiant. Why, in all my days,' I said, 'I've never seen anyone as radiant as the Queen,'" Margaery replied. Jaime bent his head so they wouldn't be able to see him roll his eyes.  
  
"The King Consort looks terrible, though," Olenna announced one day. "Absolutely horrible. I never saw him look worse. He needs to cheer up; he's not the one carrying the child."   
  
_Why does the Queen even keep these fools around?_ Jaime would never - _could_ never - forget how they had betrayed little Tommen. A kind and innocent little boy, yet the moment he'd been of no use to them the Tyrells had abandoned the connection.  
  
 _He got a swifter, cleaner death than Rhaegar's babes did at the hand of your family_ , chanted that nagging little voice inside his head. Jaime shifted restlessly and glanced at the window, then cleared his throat.  
  
"Lady Sansa, it is time for us to be on our way to your next...appointment," he said carefully. When Sansa looked at him and smiled he could see the radiant hope on her face, and his heart ached a bit...for himself or for her, he wasn't sure. The Queen gave Sansa a knowing look, but Sansa merely blushed and gave a mumbled excuse as she bowed her way out of the room. Jaime was close behind, heaving a sigh at finally escaping that suffocating atmosphere.  
  
As they made their way from the room, Loras Tyrell approached them. "Good afternoon, Ser Loras," Sansa said politely. "Have you come to fetch Lady Olenna and Margaery?" The scarred knight, no longer young or handsome, only nodded and looked over Sansa's shoulder - and Jaime turned to see the ladies in question approaching. The three of them surrounded Jaime and Sansa - and Jaime was not sure he liked the look in the Queen of Thorns' eyes.  
  
"What are you still doing here, Lady Sansa?" Lady Olenna said shrewdly.  
  
"Still doing here?" Sansa repeated, looking from one Tyrell to another, obviously confused.  
  
"Yes, Sansa. Don't you think you should go home?" Margaery asked, her tone sickly-sweet. "King's Landing must seem so...hot, and loud, and busy, after the simple comforts of Winterfell."  
  
Sansa glanced up at Jaime, wide-eyed. "Lady Sansa quite enjoys her time here, and likes to be by the Queen's side just now," he explained, his voice low and dangerous. _What are these fools about?_  
  
"I believe we like it here far more than Lady Sansa does," the Queen of Thorns insisted. "And we may be staying quite a while. We can certainly keep Queen Daenerys company during her confinement, so that _dear_ Lady Sansa may return to the home she loves."  
  
"I will return to Winterfell whenever _I_ please," Sansa replied coldly. "I was here before you, after all...need I remind you that whether I am in King's Landing or at Winterfell, I will be in the hearts of the Queen and King Consort long after you are gone, as well?" Jaime felt a surge of pride. This was the strong, bold Lady Stark that he remembered, when they were in the North and she ruled with a soft touch or an iron fist as needed.  
  
Margaery stepped forward. "I assure you that Daenerys and Jon are quite fond of us as well, Sansa. Doubtless you remember how we Tyrells helped the Queen take the city when she arrived here from across the Narrow Sea?"  
  
Jaime didn't care for this confrontation, didn't care for it one bit. He laid his hand on the hilt of his sword and made to step between the two young Ladies - but Ser Loras moved as well, placing himself in Jaime's path. For several long moments the five of them stared each other down, and Jaime could feel his hatred of these people rising again - when suddenly they heard someone call out from the end of the hall, "What's going on here?"  
  
It was the King Consort. "Nothing, Your Grace," Margaery cried, brushing a quick kiss on Sansa's cheek before glancing at her grandmother and brother. The three of them backed away and Jaime reluctantly removed his hand from his sword hilt. "We were just taking our leave of Lady Sansa and Ser Jaime." And just like that the Tyrells were gone. Sansa forced a weak smile for her cousin and muttered the proper courtesies, explaining that she was running late to meet Sandor Clegane. As they strode quickly down the hall, Jaime draped his arm over Sansa's shoulders and squeezed her reassuringly.  
  
"Steady now," he murmured. He could feel her shaking in what he could only assume was anger, and again he felt his own animosity threaten to take over. But she soon shrugged out of his embrace.  
  
"Sandor will not have arrived in the Red Keep just yet. Will you take me to his lodgings, please?" Sansa requested.  
  
"Are...are you certain, Sansa?" She nodded in reply. "All right," he agreed. "This way." He led her outside and through the Red Keep, out the gate and into the city, losing himself to his thoughts along the way.  
  
Jaime had hoped that keeping Sandor Clegane around would be just a passing fancy of Sansa's. Not that she was prone to them - no, when she made up her mind she was surprisingly even more stubborn than her wild little sister - but nearly a fortnight had passed since the tournament and still she spent time with Clegane every day. Often she would play her harp for him; sometimes she would even sing. She had not asked to be alone with him since the day he and Brienne had revealed the news of the Queen's possible pregnancy, but when he had casually asked Brienne about the times when he wasn't there her stories were the same as the ones he had to tell. It was a strange thing, this friendship or…relationship. Jaime wasn't even sure what to call it.  
  
But he _was_ sure that Sansa was happier than he'd seen her in a long, long time - happier even than she'd been before the tournament that had brought Sandor Clegane to King’s Landing. So even after their strange confrontation with the Tyrells, he was surprised when she chose this day to tell him that she was thinking of returning to Winterfell soon.  
  
"Won't you miss being at court, Sansa? The Queen, and the King Consort...don't you want to see their child born? And your other friends..."  
  
Sansa only smiled a sad smile, the kind he'd been used to - _before._ "I will miss a great many things, Ser Jaime. But for all that, it is still nearly time that we returned home."


	19. Act 2, Scene 4 - SANDOR

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, when Sansa Stark had asked him to stay in King's Landing and he'd obeyed without question. Perhaps it was simply that old habits did not fall away so easily. He'd learned that on the Quiet Isle, where he had found some peace with himself but still been unable to take the vows that the Elder Brother had clearly wished him to take. Despite the fact that Sandor hadn't been alone with the little bird in weeks...despite the fact that she had not kissed him again, only once in a great while laid a hand on his arm, and never touched him otherwise...despite the fact that he knew that it was past time he returned to Clegane Keep...something made him stay.  
  
 _Something about_ her _makes you stay, dog._ _  
  
_Sandor was giving a few instructions to Brandon and Aegon, last-minute reminders as to what he expected of them while he was visiting Lady Sansa Stark in the Red Keep, when the woman herself approached, escorted by Jaime Lannister. Sandor ignored that man and gave Sansa Stark a curious, concerned look. "Hello, little bird. What are you doing outside of the Red Keep? I thought we were to..." He stopped when he realized that her chin was trembling and she was about to cry. He looked to the Kingslayer, but the man was staring straight ahead, his jaw set and his eyes cold, dead.  
  
"I'll take her from here, _Ser Jaime_ ," Sandor insisted.  
  
"I think not, Clegane," the Kingslayer growled.  
  
"No, Jaime, it's all right. Please, return to the Keep. I will be safe with Sandor," the little bird said. She shared a look with her guard, who gave a curt, reluctant bow and headed back the way they'd come, glancing over his shoulder just once, his eyes meeting Sandor's and the threat in them plain as day. Sandor nearly chuckled, but something told him this was not the time, and instead he faced Sansa Stark again.  
  
"I...I think I could use a cup of wine," she admitted, a blush rising in her cheeks.  
  
Sandor stared down at her. It was just the two of them now, finally, yet he suddenly realized that he had no idea what to do - with himself, and certainly not with _her_. "You know, little bird, I think I could use some wine as well. I think I know the very place. Come on."  
  
He could tell that Sansa was a bit concerned over where he would take her. When she rested her hand in the crook of his right elbow as she was wont to do, he tentatively reached up and placed his left hand over hers. She said nothing, and she didn't look at him, but when he glanced down at her from the corner of his eye he could see the faint smile playing across her lips and his stomach turned, a strange feeling that he had never felt before. His grip on the little bird's hand tightened automatically in response to that swooping feeling, but when he saw her finally look up at him he kept his eyes trained straight ahead, afraid that they would betray him.  
  
Finally they reached a narrow two-story building of stone and timber, all the wood painted a deep green. "Well, here we are," he rasped.  
  
"A...a winesink?" she asked, unsure.  
  
"One of the better ones, little bird. I would come here of an evening when I had a little extra gold in my pocket, to drink the good Dornish sour and..." He stopped himself from saying more. "Here, you'd best take this nonetheless. You shouldn't be recognized." Sandor unclasped his cloak and draped it over her shoulders, noting that though she was quite tall it still puddled on the ground around her feet. Sansa Stark looked up at him with wide eyes, but obediently pulled the hood over her head as they stepped inside. The lighting was dim and the patrons few, but as usual the main room was fairly clean. He led Sansa to a table in one of the far corners and beckoned to an old crone carrying a jug of wine. "Two cups of your best," he grunted. She eyed them suspiciously but fetched their drinks nonetheless, and when the cups were before them Sandor picked his up and drank deeply, setting it back on the table and waving for more. He hadn't been good and drunk since well before he'd arrived in King's Landing, but if the little bird wanted wine that badly he felt he would need it too.  
  
"Thank you," Sansa whispered after sipping on her wine for several long, quiet moments. "It's been...quite a day."  
  
Sandor opened his mouth to speak, but bit back the retort that almost escaped his lips. _Good dog._ "You going to tell me about it, then?" he asked, taking another long pull from his cup and leaning back against the wall.  
  
And so she did, though he could tell that she kept some parts to herself. By the time she finished telling him how the Tyrells had cornered her, Sandor's knuckles were white as he gripped his cup in anger. He saw her glance down at his hand and felt the corner of his mouth twitch, but before she could continue he mumbled, "Say no more. I get the whole picture. Queen of Thorns, that black widow Margaery, and the Knight of Failures. Well, that's what comes of tying yourself down."  
  
For a moment a smirk had crossed her face, when he'd referred to Loras Tyrell as the Knight of Failures rather than flowers - but then she was staring down at her wine again as she asked, "Haven't you tied yourself down, then? With Clegane Keep?"  
  
Sandor shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go, little bird. And at least the Keep is mine, no one else's." Even as he said the words, though, they felt hollow. The Keep was not really his. It was his father's, and Gregor's, and he would never feel truly comfortable or at home there.  
  
By now Sansa's hands were wrapped around an empty cup. Sandor nodded toward it. "More wine?"  
  
"Yes, please," she murmured. Then, "And...and some food, maybe? If we're to stay a while?"  
  
"Do you want to stay a while?" _Stupid dog, of course she does. She's already asked for more wine._  
  
"Yes, I...I think I do."  
  
Again Sandor called the old crone over. "What's your pleasure?" she asked as he placed a silver stag on the table.  
  
"Bring us some food. Something decent for the lady," he ordered. The crone nodded and scurried away to fetch them a meal, but before either of them could speak a man of questionable cleanliness approached their table, harp in hand.  
  
"Some music for m'lord and m'lady?" the singer offered. Sandor was about to wave him away, but when he looked down at the little bird he saw something like hope on her face, and with a roll of his eyes he growled, "I'm no lord, but you're welcome to play for her. _Quietly_."  
  
The man's head bobbed stupidly and he settled himself a few feet away and began to sing - some lilting song about a beautiful night, a tune Sandor had never heard. Soon their food was placed on the table, their wine cups refilled again and again, and though they were silent for some time he felt just as tranquil as he always did in her presence. Nowadays. Before, it had been...different.  
  
 _Don't think about before. There's no use in it_ , he told himself, and when he looked at the little bird again she was watching him, and he saw something in her eyes, something that he recognized from the night of the tourney feast.  
  
The night that she'd kissed him.  
  
"Little bird," he said hoarsely, and he reached for her, tangling one hand in her auburn hair. He barely had to exert any pressure at all; she moved toward him willingly and he reached around her waist, drawing her into his lap.


	20. Act 2, Scene 5 - SANSA

She'd lost herself with him, in this dim little winesink in a back alley of King's Landing. When Sandor pulled her into his lap there was no reason to protest - hadn't she wanted this closeness, this intimacy with him...for longer than she could remember? By the Seven, Sansa had dreamed of it more often than not back in the Vale, and that was years past now.  
  
She pressed soft, quick kisses on Sandor. On the corner of his lips, the burnt corner, and they twitched beneath her touch. On his scarred cheek, the ridges feeling both foreign and somehow like home. Along his jawline, down his neck, brushing aside his tunic to caress his collarbone, and then Sansa buried her head against his chest. The gods knew how much she wanted him, but what was the point? She'd meant what she'd told Ser Jaime; it was time for them to go home. And so they would, and Sandor would return to Clegane Keep, and like as not she'd never see him again.  
  
In that moment the door to the winesink swung open, and through it Sansa could see the dark sky and hear the revelries that proved it was quite late at night. She suddenly realized how foolish she'd been, sending Jaime back to the Red Keep, not having him or Brienne with her, running about the city with only Sandor by her side...and so soon after that nonsense with the Tyrells! What could they use against her in their attempts to get her to leave, if not _this_? She sat up and wiggled out of Sandor's lap, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. "Oh...oh, dear."  
  
"Is something wrong, little bird?"  
  
"It's the middle of the night!" Sansa hissed, feeling her face scrunch with panic.  
  
"Yeah. So it is."  
  
"I should have returned to the Red Keep hours ago!"  
  
"Why? Because you still believe that you have a place there?" Sandor's words were harsh, but she could see the hurt and frustration in his eyes and her heart went out to him. "Ah, come on, little bird. Open up your eyes."  
  
"Open my eyes?"  
  
"To what life can really be. Staying in the Red Keep at the Dragon Queen's behest....may not seem it now, your having returned to court so recently, but that's a fenced-in life. Look, there's a great big world out there with no fence around it." He crooked a finger around her chin and just this slightest of touches made her go limp, made her feel weak with emotion. "A wolf and a dog...they could find adventure and excitement and who knows what wonderful experiences in a world like that. It's all ours for the taking, little bird. It's all ours."  
  
He was pleading with her, and more than anything Sansa wanted to say yes, to place her hand in his and let him take her wherever he would go. _But you are a lady. You are_ the _Lady, the Lady of Winterfell, acting Warden of the North. You have a place, and you must return to it, for Rickon cannot lead by himself. He's but a child._  
  
"It sounds wonderful..." she sighed, her heart aching for what could be, were she not Sansa Stark of Winterfell.  
  
"But?" Sandor rasped, his voice thick with an emotion she could not place.  
  
"But who would watch over Rickon, and Winterfell?" Sansa whispered, staring down at her hands. _Anything to avoid seeing that look in his eyes._  
  
The silence stretched between them, sad and tense. Finally Sandor made a sound low in his throat, something between a grunt and a growl, and said, "You win. Come on. I'll take you home."He stood abruptly and tossed some coins on the table before stalking to the door, leaving her no choice but to follow him right then and there. Sandor strode up the street in the direction of the Red Keep, his legs so long that she had to practically run to keep up with him. When they reached the nearest gate into the Keep, though, the gold cloaks whispered amongst themselves and insisted that Sansa and Sandor wait for them to ascertain whether or not they should admit "the Stark woman and her dog".  
  
"I am a loyal friend to Her Grace and cousin to the King Consort!" Sansa spat. "You will grant me entrance right this moment!" From the corner of her eye she saw Sandor draw his sword and force one of the gold cloaks toward the gate.  
  
"Open the gate for my lady here, and you'll have no trouble from me. Refuse, and I'll cleave you shoulder to stomach," he snarled.  
  
"What's going on out here?" a voice called from the other side of the gate.  
  
"Oh, no," Sansa groaned.  
  
"Who's that?" Sandor asked, his blade still pressed to the gold cloak's throat.  
  
"Loras Tyrell," Sansa murmured, her stomach in knots. This did not bode well, she knew - especially when she saw the cloaked woman approaching just behind her brother. "And Lady Margaery." She didn't know whether or not to be relieved that Lady Olenna was not there as well.  
  
The Tyrells pulled the gold cloaks aside - all but the one who was still being held at swordpoint by Sandor - and after a few minutes of conversation they approached and had the guards unlock the gate. Sansa thought for a moment that perhaps everything was fine - but as soon as Sandor sheathed his sword the gold cloaks surrounded him, while Loras and Margaery each gripped one of her arms and led her away from Sandor Clegane. Sansa struggled against them, but not for long, as Margaery immediately hissed, "I suggest you come quietly if you don't want your dog harmed." To the gold cloaks she called, "Lock him up somewhere and allow no one to see him; he's been holding the Lady Sansa against her will!"  
  
"Little bird?" Sandor shouted, but when he tried to step toward her several sword points fenced him in. Sansa could only stare at him, willing him to understand that she would fix this as soon as she could, and then Loras and Margaery turned her around and forced her deeper into the Red Keep, away from Sandor Clegane and toward she knew not what.  
  
Finally the Tyrells deposited Sansa in one of the chambers they'd been given upon their arrival in the Red Keep. They disappeared for quite some time, and when they came back they had the Queen of Thorns with them. "Well, well," Lady Olenna mused. "Lady Sansa Stark herself. What were you doing wandering the city so late at night, sweetling?"  
  
"Playing with her dog," Ser Loras chuckled darkly. Sansa turned and glared at him, this shell of a man who had once been so valiant, so handsome.  
  
"All right, all right, leave her be," Lady Olenna chided.  
  
"Oh, what's wrong, Grandmother? We were only having a bit of fun," Margaery's lips quirked up into a smile.  
  
"Can't you see that Lady Sansa is scared enough already? Pay no attention to them, my dear. They don't mean any _real_ harm. You see, we've come to understand why you are so...attached...to Sandor Clegane. One miserable being must find a more miserable being, in order to be happy. What we were trying to make you realize earlier today is that we are your key to freedom, my lady. You may return to Winterfell and be happy there, knowing that Queen Daenerys has such stalwart friends as us by her side."  
  
"And if I don't _want_ to return to Winterfell?" Sansa asked, crossing her arms over her chest and hoping that they couldn't see through her lie.  
  
"In that case, your _Hound_ will have had a merry yet _short_ time here in King's Landing," Lady Olenna explained, her tone sickly sweet with falsity.  
  
" _My_ Hound?" Sansa felt her heart flutter in her chest, partly because she'd never called Sandor hers before, partly because she did not like the levity behind the Queen of Thorns' threat.  
  
"Yes. He's given the slip to everyone that's tried to catch him before, but we have him now," Margaery said. "Even Sandor Clegane has his weaknesses."  
  
 _Fire,_ Sansa thought, alarmed. "Weaknesses?" she forced herself to inquire, hoping that she sounded more assured than she felt.  
  
"He has an eye for beautiful ladies, Sansa. Don't you recall how much trouble his devotion to Cersei got him in?"  
  
"Cersei?" Sansa was confused. "He was Joffrey's sworn shield..."  
  
"Yes, he was Joffrey's dog, but he was Cersei's _man_ ," Margaery smirked. "Oh, Lady Sansa, the things we learned around the Red Keep after you were gone...it turns out that Cersei Lannister was throwing herself at half the men in court, and had been for years and years. How did you think Clegane ended up as Joffrey's 'sworn shield', anyway? Second son of a minor house, not even a knight...the story goes that Cersei wanted a plaything and so plucked the Hound from obscurity. Oh, I'm not sure that she ever truly gave herself to him...who would, with that face of his? But somehow she got a sort of collar 'round his neck, wouldn't you agree?  
  
"Of course, then he met someone different. A delicate, fragile creature who gave him a wish to truly shelter and protect. He met _you_ , Lady Sansa, and the poor dog grew careless. And as long as you're around him, he'll continue to be as such."  
  
Sansa barely heard those last words, as two names kept circling round and round in her head. _Sandor. Cersei. Cersei. Sandor. Sandor and Cersei. Cersie and Sandor._ She felt sick, she felt betrayed, she felt... _angry_. She opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out; she tried to stare down the Tyrells but their insipid smiles just made her want to hit every one of them.  
  
Just then, there was a knock at the door.


	21. Act 2, Scene 6 - BRIENNE

She suspected that Jaime had thought he would be rousing her out of bed, coming to her in the dead of night as he did...but Brienne wasn't sure how he could have assumed that she would be sleeping at a time like this. When Lady Sansa had not returned to the Red Keep by nightfall and Jaime had admitted to leaving her alone with Sandor Clegane outside its walls, all Brienne had been able to think was _we have failed in our duty as her sworn swords.  
  
_ And then Jaime had come pounding on her door and had dragged her from her room, saying nothing more than  "She's been found," and Brienne could have wept in relief. They'd collected Sansa from the Tyrells as quickly as possible, but Brienne could see that the damage had already been done.  
  
"Jaime, please see that they release Sandor immediately. Tell him to return to his lodgings. I...I need my rest," Sansa had said, dully. Thankfully Jaime had obeyed - without question, for once - and Brienne had escorted Lady Sansa back to her chambers.  
  
That had been several days ago, though, and still things were not right. Sansa refused to see Sandor Clegane, though she swore that he'd not harmed her in any way, and she threw herself into preparing for their return to Winterfell. Normally Brienne would have rejoiced over this, yet just now the general attitude with which Sansa was facing their leave-taking made Brienne feel...hollow. Still, she was shocked when Jaime took her aside and told her what he was considering...and the very idea made it feel as though he was sticking a knife in her gut and twisting it, _just so_. Yet in a way, his plan made some small sort of sense, and so Brienne agreed to back him.  
  
Still, Jaime paused that morning before knocking on the door to Lady Sansa's chambers. "Courage, Jaime. Courage," Brienne murmured, laying a hand on his shoulder. When he looked at her she saw for a moment a nervous boy rather than a self-assured grown man. "I...I've never even considered matrimony," he admitted.  
  
"Nor I," she lied, because it seemed the best thing to say just them. "Now remember, not a word about her unfortunate experience. You don't want to hurt her feelings."  
  
"Aye, I know." Jaime rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles. "Sansa? Lady Stark?"  
  
"Please, I don't want to see anybody," came their lady's muffled response.  
  
"Now, now, my lady. Don't feel that way about it," Brienne called back.  
  
"Of course not, Lady Sansa. You're one of the finest people I know, those Tyrells - "  
  
"Quiet, you fool!" Brienne hissed.  
  
"Please, Sansa...uh...we've come...with a...a proposition for helping you," Jaime stuttered. Brienne had never seen him so nervous...could it be that he actually cared for Sansa in _that_ way?  
  
"Help me?" They heard the scrape of a chair on the floor, followed by footsteps, and then Sansa had opened the door to admit them. "What do you mean?"  
  
Jaime stepped into the room and Brienne followed. Sansa looked terrible - her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed as if she'd gotten little sleep and done too much crying. "Well, now, you see..." Brienne made a helpless gesture and turned to Jaime. This was his idea and she wasn't sure she could bring herself to say the words, anyway.  
  
"What I'm trying to say, Lady Sansa...I'm...I'm not as young as I used to be, but I'm still in the prime of life. You know that I prefer living at Winterfell...you know that with me you will be appreciated, my lady. So...to come directly to the point...if it's a home and a family you want, I...I believe that I could help provide that for you." Jaime stood tall just then, and though his nervousness was still obvious Brienne thought that he had never looked more handsome. _How could Sansa possibly refuse a man like this?_  
  
But she did - and easily, it seemed, at that. "You're very kind, and I do appreciate it, but..." Sansa's shoulders rose and fell; shocked at this turn of events, Brienne looked to Jaime - and was even more surprised to see that he looked _relieved_. But before any of them could say another word, they heard a hoarse chuckle coming from the direction of the chamber door.  
  
"Little bird. Kingslayer. Wench. Have I interrupted something...important?" Sandor Clegane rasped.


	22. Act 2, Scene 7 - SANDOR

Though Jaime had fetched him from the Tyrell's clutches quickly enough, Sandor was seething over the entire situation - especially considering the fact that Sansa Stark had refused to see him since that night. On the fourth day he'd finally had enough - if for some reason she no longer wanted to be in his presence, it was time for him to return to Clegane Keep.  
  
But he wouldn't do so without knowing what had changed, and he would hear it from the little bird's lips himself.  
  
Still, nothing had prepared him for finding her chamber door open and unguarded, or for stepping inside only to hear Jaime _fucking_ Lannister asking the little bird to _marry_ him. For a fraction of a moment Sandor felt a beastly sort of anger rise within him, and only Sansa Stark's apologetic refusal kept him from unsheathing his sword and running the Kingslayer through with it.  
  
When Sandor spoke and the three of them finally noticed him, Jaime immediately stepped in front of Sansa. "If you do not want him here, Sansa, we'll gladly throw the dog out!" the Kingslayer offered, but the little bird moved around him and laid her hand on his arm.  
  
"That won't be necessary, thank you. Please, may I have a moment with Sandor? Just a moment."  
  
Sandor grinned his ugly grin, the burnt corner of his lips twitching madly, as Sansa's _faithful_ guards left the room. As soon as they were gone he forced himself to seize the moment. "The other night..."  
  
"Oh! Don't even mention that. I was so embarrassed and...and _frightened_ ," she admitted. In that moment all that Sandor wanted to do was take her in his arms, but when he started forward she raised her hands up to keep him at bay. "Tell me about you and Cersei," she ordered calmly.  
  
"Cersei?" Sandor was confused. Cersei Lannister had been dead for years, and he had left the Lannisters' service years before _that_...what could Sansa Stark possibly be -  
  
 _Oh. Oh, shit._ "Little bird, I...I can explain..." _Can you, dog? Can you explain how she ensnared you, how she made you hers, how you couldn't bare to be apart from her even when the best she would do for you was to set you to guard her little incest-born brat?_  
  
"Don't bother," Sansa snapped, and he saw the hurt in her eyes, realized that she'd been hoping what she'd heard had been lies. "As far as I'm concerned, you needn't worry about me. I don't need you to shelter and protect me, and if you grow careless, don't blame me. I don't care if you...oh, I don't care what you do! Go back to Clegane Keep and plant your fields and hide yourself away from the world. Goodbye! And take this with you!" She strode over to a chair and picked up the cloak he had lent her. It had been washed and folded and Sansa handled it so tenderly that he knew she had to have cleaned it herself…but then she practically shoved it into his hands and immediately spun away, stalking to the window and standing with her back to him. Sandor could see her shoulders shaking, could hear the soft sniffles that told him she was crying. He stood there for a long moment, his grip tight on the cloak in his hands. He felt enraged and lost all at the same time; he wasn't sure whether he wanted to hit something, break something, or simply skulk away and lick his wounds as dogs are wont to do.  
  
Slowly he turned to go, realizing for the first time in his life that he truly knew the meaning of the word downtrodden...but when he suddenly heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him he turned immediately. "What's wrong, little bird?" he heard himself ask, at the same time wanting to bite down on his tongue, to punish himself for being so damned _weak_ when it came to Sansa Stark.  
  
"I...I thought I saw..." Her voice was trembling, _she_ was trembling, and it took every ounce of self restraint that Sandor possessed to keep himself from crossing the room and taking her in his arms.  
  
"Saw what?" he coaxed, realizing that he sounded angrier than he meant to do.  
  
 _"Littlefinger,"_ she whispered, fearfully.


	23. Act 2, Scene 8 - JAIME

Had he really expected her to say yes? He'd been overcome by a potent sort of relief when Sansa had thanked him for his offer, but when Sandor Clegane arrived and she sent Jaime and Brienne from the room he'd suddenly felt...rejected.  
  
"She'll be better once we are on our way home to Winterfell," Brienne assured him.  
  
"Aye, I suppose." _And hopefully things won't be awkward between Sansa and I now._  
  
"Jaime...the Tyrells...do you think we should be...concerned?" Brienne asked carefully.  
  
He sighed. "I don't know, Brienne. It seems they're up to something, but what...the Queen is guarded night and day, by her husband or by her Queensguard. Ser Jorah tastes every bit of food and drink that makes its way in front of her. And besides...the people love her, and for good reason. The Tyrells are a shell of what they once were." As he said this, though, he realized _that_ was the problem. And how many other once-powerful figures had been brought low by Daenerys Targaryen's return? The list was short, but it was a list nonetheless.  
  
All they would need was someone to organize them.  
  
Jaime stopped short. "Brienne, who else came to King's Landing for Sansa's tourney?"  
  
"I...well...Sandor Clegane, I suppose?" Brienne replied, unsure.  
  
"No, no, not _him_." There was no way Clegane was involved in this; Jaime saw the way he looked at Sansa, heard the tone of Sandor's voice when he called her "little bird". "The others. Lords, ladies and their ilk." That last word almost made him laugh. _You were of their’ ilk’ once, remember? More than that, you were in the highest tier of their ‘ilk’._  
  
"Well, the Tyrells, of course. The Corbrays. The Tarlys...well, Dickon Tarly. And the Bulwers, I think?"  
  
"I think we can leave out Dickon Tarly. His brother Sam is a great friend to the King Consort, and Dickon himself seems a good lad, despite that father of his," Jaime shot Brienne an understanding smile, and her mouth quirked up in return. "But the rest..."  
  
"What are you thinking, Jaime?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet...I - "  
  
He was interrupted then by Sansa and Clegane. They came rushing out of Sansa's chambers - her face was pinched and white with fear; Clegane's was twisted in fury and his hand was on the hilt of his sword. _Never without a blade, this man,_ Jaime mused. _Smart._  
  
"Lady Sansa? What - "  
  
"Littlefinger. Petyr Baelish. He's here, I saw him, gods only know how he got into the Red Keep...or where he's been all these years...but he's here, he's _here_. Why?!" Sansa cried.  
  
Jaime shared a look with Brienne. "I think it's a good thing you have your sword, Clegane. Sansa, stay here. Lock yourself in your chamber. Brienne, guard the door." The latter gave him a withering glance, and he placed his hand on her shoulder. "She needs someone to guard her," he murmured. "Someone with two hands. Please, stay. Clegane and I will handle this."


	24. Act 2, Scene 9 - SANSA

_Gods, can anything else possibly go wrong?_  
  
Sansa had spent the past days wallowing in her misery and questioning everything that she'd once been sure of. She couldn't even pinpoint why it bothered her so much that Sandor had at one point felt a sort of fondness for Cersei...after all, hadn't she herself wished to emulate the Queen all those years ago?  
  
 _You heard the way Margaery talked. It was more than a "fondness"..._  
  
And then Jaime...gods, what had he been thinking? The gesture was sweet, but could he not see that Brienne was utterly infatuated with him? Men were so _blind_ sometimes. Most of the time, actually. She loved Jaime, but she did not and would never desire to wed him and bed him. In fact, other than fleeting attractions to certain boys in her past, the only man she had ever desired at all was Sandor. Gods, she’d desired him before she even knew what desire _was_.  
  
As it happened, Sandor had the worst timing in the world...though the knowledge that he was here to protect her from Littlefinger, if that was indeed who she'd seen, made Sansa feel much, much safer.  
  
After giving Brienne an apologetic smile, Sansa barred the door as she'd been told. She moved to the window and after glancing down to see whether the yard below was empty – it was – she pulled the curtains as well. Sansa settled into a chair - the chair Sandor had occupied just a few days before - to wait. She hated feeling so _helpless_ , and wondered again and again how Littlefinger could have possibly gotten into the Red Keep. The gold cloaks must have been involved, or at least some of them. It would not be surprising if a few of them could still be bought, and gods knew Petyr Baelish had the coin. But he would have needed someone inside as well…  
  
With a start Sansa remembered learning that he and the Queen of Thorns had essentially orchestrated Joff's poisoning. _Could they still be working together, Littlefinger and the Tyrells?_ The very thought made her sick. Where were Jon and Dany? They must be told, must know of this immediately...gods, if they found Jaime and Sandor wandering the Red Keep, essentially _looking_ for a fight, then the two men she trusted most in the world - neither of whom the Queen and King Consort were very fond of - were like to get in some sort of trouble...  
  
Sansa knew then that she would not - _could_ not - sit idly by and let anything like that happen. Not to Jaime. _Not to Sandor._ The question was, would Brienne let her go? Sansa moved to her trunk and dug through it to find her dagger. At Winterfell she kept it on her person at all times, though she'd never thought about actually having to use it. Here, she'd left it packed away because there were guards everywhere...either Jaime or Brienne or both of them; not to mention Ser Jorah, the rest of the Queensguard, and even her cousin Jon.  
  
But now...  
  
She took a deep breath as she unbarred the door and cracked it open. "Brienne!" she hissed. The large, usually ungainly woman spun around gracefully, ready to withdraw her sword at a moment's notice.  
  
"Lady Sansa?" she asked, unsure.  
  
"Brienne, we can't stay here. If that was Littlefinger I saw...if Jaime and Sandor get into trouble...the Queen and the King Consort _must know_."  
  
Though she was obviously concerned over this change of plan, Brienne thought about this for a moment and then nodded. "You're right," she admitted. "But...you should stay here. If you're locked in your room..."  
  
"I can't stay here, Brienne," Sansa replied firmly. "They are more like to listen to me than to you...and to remain in this room...not knowing..."  
  
Brienne shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, Lady Sansa...Jaime wanted you to stay safely locked in your room..."  
  
Sansa pulled out the dagger. "I have this. And I have _you_. I'll be safe." Brienne chewed on her lip for a moment, but Sansa stood tall and fixed her eyes on the other woman, and finally her guard nodded.  
  
"All right. But stay close beside me. We'll go straight to the royal chambers."  
  
They did just that, moving swiftly and quietly through Maegor's Holdfast until they reached the closed entrance to the Queen's chambers. One of her Dothraki Queensguard stood outside the door, and he eyed them suspiciously. "We need to see the Queen," Sansa announced, though she kept her voice low.  
  
"The _khaleesi_ rests now, Northerner. Come back later," the Dothraki insisted.  
  
"I apologize for disturbing her, but this is a matter of great import. Is the King Consort within?" The man shook his head, and Sansa wrinkled her forehead, worried. "Please," was all she said, but she was thinking _let us in, you_ must _let us in..._  
  
The Dothraki must have understood her urgency; with a frustrated grunt he stepped aside and Sansa rapped softly on the door. Several moments passed; she knocked again, louder. Finally the door was unbolted from the inside, and Ser Jorah opened it, peering at Sansa and Brienne in annoyance. He cut his eyes at the Dothraki. "Her Grace did not want to be disturbed." The guard shrugged and pointed mutely at Sansa, and with a sigh Ser Jorah stepped aside to let them in.  
  
"It is good you are here, Ser Jorah. I fear there may be an unwanted visitor wandering the Red Keep. Ser Jaime and Sandor Clegane have gone in search of him, but someone must find my cousin, and quickly."  
  
"Unwanted visitor?" Ser Jorah growled. "Whom do you speak of, Lady Stark?"  
  
"Petyr Baelish," Sansa replied, a shiver going up her spine as she said his name. _He can do you no harm. Not now. Not here._  
  
"Baelish? No one has seen him this side of the Narrow Sea for many years, my lady," Ser Jorah said. She could see that he did not believe her, but Sansa knew that she must press on.  
  
"Someone did. _I_ did. And...there was an incident a few days ago...I...I believe that the gold cloaks are involved, at least some of them. And...and the Tyrells, as well." Sansa was aware of how silly she sounded just then, but at the same time she had a nagging feeling that she was right, that there was danger afoot and that these people were not to be trusted. _Follow your instincts._  
  
Dany emerged from her bedchamber then, clad in a loose and flowing robe that hid the soft curve of her pregnant belly. "Sansa, dear? What is this about?"  
  
"The Lady Sansa claims that she saw Petyr Baelish wandering the Red Keep," Jorah announced, glancing side-eyed at Sansa to show that he didn't quite believe her.  
  
"Baelish? The Usurper's former Master of Coin? The one who was granted Harrenhal?" Dany questioned, unsure.  
  
"Yes, Your Grace. I...I saw him in the yard, earlier. I'm not sure where he was going...he was alone...but he got inside the Red Keep _somehow_. Ser Jaime insisted on going to find Littlefinger, and took Sandor Clegane with him, but I fear that there may be an altercation and - "  
  
Just then there was a shout from outside the door. Though Ser Jorah had shut it behind them when they entered, it was not barred, and when it swung open Sansa's heart lurched into her throat. She caught a glimpse of the Dothraki guard slumped against the far wall; he appeared to be alive, but there was a large gash on his forehead and he was moaning incoherently - and there in the doorway stood Ser Loras.  
  
And Littlefinger himself.


	25. Act 2, Scene 10 - SANDOR

They searched for Petyr Baelish for half an hour at least before Jaime Lannister finally stopped and said, "This is madness."  
  
"You think Sansa didn't see him?" Sandor snarled. He couldn't stand the idea that the Kingslayer didn't believe the little bird. Sandor had seen the way she'd trembled, seen the sickened, frightened look in her eyes. He couldn't imagine that a mere apparition, or some man who looked slightly like Littlefinger, would have made her come unhinged like that.  
  
"Oh, I believe she saw him," Jaime muttered. "And _he_ is not my only concern. But the Red Keep is far too large for us to search every nook and cranny on our own, and I assure you he knows more of this place than you or I. Let us return to Sansa and take her to the Queen and King Consort. They can rouse others of whose loyalty they are sure. If we come upon Baelish and he is not alone...say, if he has a dozen swords with him..." Sandor saw Jaime glance down at his missing sword hand.  
  
"I'll kill every one of them, then," Sandor smirked.  
  
"And get yourself killed in the process? I'm not sure Sansa would enjoy that as much as I," Jaime quipped in reply. "Tell me, did she ask that you return to Winterfell with us? Did you refuse? Is that why she has been loathe to set eyes on you the past few days?"  
  
"Winterfell?" Sandor snorted. She hadn't asked, of course, and if she had...  
  
 _If she had, how would you have refused?_  
  
"So she didn't ask. I am surprised. I assumed she would, and then we'd be stuck with you," Jaime mused.  
  
"Not sure what this has to do with the matter at hand. Are we to return to Maegor's, or not?" Sandor needed to change the subject. The hope that had swelled in him over the fact that Jaime was _surprised_ that the little bird hadn't asked Sandor to come to Winterfell...it wouldn't, _couldn't,_ be denied, yet he didn't have time for it just now.  
  
Jaime gazed about them, obviously frustrated. "Yes, I think that would be best." They made their way to Sansa's chambers without meeting a single Tyrell - or Littlefinger, for that matter. But Sandor's heart caught in his throat when they arrived, for the door to the chamber stood slightly ajar and neither Brienne nor Sansa was there.  
  
"Seven hells," Sandor muttered.  
  
"There doesn't appear to have been any sort of foul play..." Jaime mused.  
  
"Foul play or not, the wench and the little bird are gone - and that does not bode well," Sandor snarled. How could the Kingslayer not see how worrisome this was? It took every bit of self-control Sandor had not to smash his fist into the other man's handsome bearded face.  
  
When Jaime looked at Sandor there was pity in his eyes. "I think we'd best go to the Queen's chambers. Immediately." Sandor nodded and with one last troubled glance at Sansa's chambers, they made their way further up into Maegor's. They were greeted with an unconscious Dothraki and a barred door, and again Sandor nearly choked on the emotions and the curses that swelled within him. "Should we break down the door?" Jaime whispered hoarsely, obviously unsure. This was the Queen's sanctuary, after all...but it was obvious that the Queensguard member lying slumped against the wall had met with some sort of foe. _Or foes._  
  
"We need to get into that room," Sandor grunted. Jaime's lips thinned into a grim line.  
  
"On the count of three, then. Both of us, all of our weight. One, two, _three_." The two of them rushed the door, slamming into it simultaneously, and it groaned under their combined weight. Sandor heard the crack of wood beginning to splinter. "Again," Jaime ordered, and they backed up. "One, two, _three_!" This time the door gave enough that a bit of hacking with their swords did the trick, and they stumbled through the opening, kicking and chopping at the broken pieces of wood to clear their way.  
  
And were greeted by a pallid Queen Daenerys, Ser Loras Tyrell with his sword drawn against them, Brienne and Ser Jorah lying in a corner bound and trussed and obviously a bit worse for the wear...and _fucking Littlefinger_ with a dagger to Sansa Stark's throat.


	26. Act 2, Scene 11 - BRIENNE

She'd thought that she and Ser Jorah together could surely best a swordless lord and one knight, even if Ser Loras was "the Knight of Flowers"...yet somehow those two had moved more quickly than Brienne had thought humanly possible, with Ser Loras disarming Ser Jorah and Baelish giving her a few good stabs with a dagger, driving her to the ground and leaving her wounded and helpless. Her cuts were mostly minor, nothing some stitches and potions couldn't fix...but that was only for now. Unless someone else arrived, and soon, there was not a doubt in Brienne's mind that she and Ser Jorah would have their throats slit and that the Queen and Lady Sansa would be dragged off to gods knew where.  
  
Oh, _why_ had she allowed Lady Sansa to convince her to come up here?  
  
 _Would it have made any difference had they come to Sansa's chambers instead?_   Brienne's conscience reminded her. Ser Loras was not the man he used to be, but he was still good with a blade, and Littlefinger was armed as well...she squeezed her eyes shut against the feeling of failure and a moan escaped her.  
  
"Quiet, you!" Ser Loras snapped.  
  
"Now, now, Ser Loras, that's no way to talk to your old friend Brienne of Tarth," Littlefinger _tsk'ed._  
  
"Nnf fnnd..." Brienne grunted through her pain.  
  
"Excuse me, what was that?" Littlefinger's tone was achingly polite, the type of tone Brienne would have fallen for in her more naive days.  
  
"He - " Brienne jerked her chin toward Loras Tyrell, wincing - "not...friend..." She couldn't even form the full sentence, but whether it was that or the fact that she felt the need to clarify on the subject that made Littlefinger chuckle, she wasn't sure.  
  
"I've had quite enough of this," the Queen finally interjected. "Ser Loras, why are you helping this fool? Surely both of you must understand that the King Consort will return any moment, that I've hundreds of loyal guards who will keep you from taking myself or the Lady Sansa away from the Red Keep. Whatever you were thinking, or planning, is nothing short of folly!"  
  
"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Daenerys Targaryen. I know ways into and out of this castle that few others have ever taken note of...with the exception of the eunuch, of course, but then you decided to mistrust him and sent him away from King's Landing, did you not? Pity. He likely would have discovered this plot, were he still buying and selling his whispers here in the Red Keep. But alas, he is not, and so here we are." Littlefinger spread his hands in what was supposed to look like a helpless gesture, but the twisted little smirk on his lips showed otherwise.  
  
"Petyr," Sansa said carefully. "Do you truly know what you're doing? Perhaps the Tyrells are helping you just now, but they could turn on you as they turned on the Queen, and you have few other friends in Westeros these days. Many say that your actions were the biggest catalysts for mad King Joffrey's short rule, and for Cersei Lannister's longer, inept one. The people know who you are, Petyr. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of letting no one understand you enough to be able to guess at your endgame?"  
  
Sansa had never revealed many details about her time with Petyr Baelish. When Jaime and Brienne had found her and taken her away from the Vale she had been at turns quiet and outspoken - and often confused. Jaime had always said that Sansa was trying to decide whether to be Sansa Stark again, or whether to retain more of the Alayne Stone personality that Baelish had imposed upon her. In the end, it became obvious that whereas Sansa would use some of what she learned during her time in the Vale, she was a Stark through and through...so to hear her talking like this...  
  
Suddenly something slammed against the door, and then Brienne heard the muffled sound of Jaime's voice counting to three before a second slam. The wood cracked and splintered from the force of the blows, but in the too-long moments it took Jaime and Sandor Clegane to hack their way into the room Ser Loras drew his blade and faced off, while Littlefinger grabbed hold of Sansa and pressed his dagger to her throat. Brienne watched as Jaime quickly assessed the situation, his face blanching white, while Sandor Clegane merely took a menacing step toward Sansa and Littlefinger, murder in his eyes.  
  
"We have the upper hand, you see," Littlefinger murmured, smiling all the while. "The...King Consort, you call him? He has been quite distracted by a problem elsewhere in the Red Keep, and nearly a third of the gold cloaks are mine. Take one more step and I will slit her throat, believe that. Traitorous _little birds_ are of no use to me."


	27. Act 2, Scene 12 - SANSA

She wanted to tell Sandor and Jaime to go, to run and find Jon...but Littlefinger's blade was pressed so hard against her windpipe that she couldn't speak. Sandor and Jaime were both inching forward, slowly but surely, yet Sansa knew Littlefinger, knew that he must see what they were doing. Still, even she was shocked when the two men – the one blonde and handsome, the other dark and scarred - shared a knowing glance and suddenly spun across each others' paths, Sandor clashing swords with Loras Tyrell as Jaime cut loose Brienne and Ser Jorah with a speed that astonished Sansa. She cried out as Littlefinger's dagger bit into her skin, but her captor was so intent on removing her from the room that he apparently forgot about the Queen.  
  
Daenerys had picked up a glass lamp, and she swung it at Littlefinger, smashing him in the back of the head so that he pitched forward, his blade suddenly gone from Sansa's throat. Sansa herself wrenched free, stumbling to the ground mere inches from where Sandor and Loras Tyrell were locked in a furious fight, their swords cutting into the floor, the furniture, the draperies, any and everything that got in their way. It was Brienne who came from behind and drove the Knight of Flowers down to the ground with her bare hands, while Ser Jorah rushed to the Queen and Jaime backed Petyr Baelish against the far wall, pinning the little man there with his sword.  
  
"That didn't go quite as you'd planned, now did it?" Jaime grimaced. Sandor's answering chuckle was like a balm to Sansa, but she knew that she first had to check on the Queen. Ser Jorah had already spirited Dany away into the far bedchamber, and she was sitting on the edge of her bed, trembling. Though she was pale as well, she waved off Sansa's ministrations with a shaky smile. "Go. Thank your men - and Brienne, of course - for me." Sansa gave Dany's hand a squeeze and rushed back into the receiving room, where Brienne and Sandor had already managed to bind Ser Loras and Jaime was still holding Littlefinger while he waited for their help. When Sandor took a step toward her, Sansa saw that he was limping; distraught, she made to ask if he was all right - but was interrupted by a voice from the doorway.  
  
"Seven hells! Why is Ser Loras trussed up on the floor?" Jon Targaryen was shouting. He was facing Sandor and apparently had not realized that Sansa, her guards and Littlefinger were even present. "I knew that it was a bad idea to have you about, Sandor Clegane. You are a vicious brute. That's it, it's the black cells for you - I was certain you were no good the moment I first laid eyes on you. Where is the Queen? What have you done with her? I swear it, I'll kill you here and now if any harm has come to her -  "  
  
"Stop!" Sansa shouted. "Listen to yourself, Jon! Look around you!"  
  
The King Consort seemed shocked to realize that Sansa was there, and almost as soon as he noticed her he saw the others who were present in the room. Jon's mouth dropped open, but before he could speak another word Ser Jorah led a shaken but perfectly fine Daenerys into the room. "Darling!" Jon cried, rushing to his wife and embracing her. " _What_ is going on here?"  
  
"I...I'm still not exactly sure," Dany admitted sheepishly. "But I do know that you've badly misjudged Sandor."  
  
"Excuse me," Jaime called out through gritted teeth. "In case anyone cares, there's still the other Tyrells and the gold cloaks bought by Littlefinger here to worry about. Not to mention anyone else who might be involved in this little plot. Shouldn't someone track them down?"  
  
"Face it, Kingslayer, you can't take them all on one-handed," Sandor chuckled. Sansa saw Jaime's frustrated look and glared at Sandor.  
  
"Watch it," she warned.  
  
Jon cleared his throat. "I'll take Jaime and Brienne with me to deal with the Tyrells and the other gold cloaks. We'll bring Ser Loras and Littlefinger here along, as well. Ser Jorah, please stay with Dany. Clegane, I'm sure you can return Lady Sansa to her chambers?"  
  
Sansa blushed crimson and focused on her feet as Sandor grunted his acknowledgment. Jon, Jaime, and Brienne left the room with Loras Tyrell and Petyr Baelish in tow; after giving Dany a quick, reassuring hug Sansa looked to Sandor for guidance. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched as he offered her his arm; Sansa looked away again, overwhelmed, having to remind herself that she was supposed to be _angry_ with him...  
  
 _Why are you still hanging on to that even now, after all that has happened?_  
  
She knew why. It was because he claimed to be so _honest_ , yet even as he had courted her these past weeks he had never admitted to something so important as having once been in love with Cersei Lannister...the woman who had made Sansa's life a living hell, who had done her best to ruin Sansa out of what seemed like pure spite.  
  
Yet the lady in Sansa knew that it was wrong to take the Tyrell's accusations at face value, to not at least _attempt_ to discuss this issue with Sandor. Especially after all he'd done for her...despite his often angry and unkind words in the past, he had offered to take her away from this place, all those years ago. _I should have gone._ He had protected her back then, as well, the only ways he knew how. The only ways he possibly _could_. And now he had rescued her for true, and though Jaime had of course been a part of it as well, she knew deep down that Sandor would have done anything to keep her safe regardless of Jaime's involvement.  
  
Sansa glanced up at Sandor from the corner of her eye, biting her lip and wondering how she should word such a question.  
  
"Yes, little bird?" he prompted in his usual frustrated snarl of a tone.


	28. Act 2, Scene 13 - JON

Though he'd been loathe to leave Daenerys, he knew that if she was safe at all she was safe with Ser Jorah. They would bar the chambers once he and the others had left.

Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth followed in Jon's wake, the former dragging Littlefinger, the latter leading Ser Loras Tyrell. They passed several guards in the halls and stairways and yards of the Red Keep, and so long as it was a man who Jon recognized and knew he sent that person to suss out the rest of any would-be traitors.

They left Maegor's and crossed the drawbridge, making for the building that had been erected in place of the Tower of the Hand. There was no Hand of the King anymore; Jon and Dany had abolished that practice. If a King - or in Dany's case, a Queen - could not run the kingdom on his or her own, then that person did not deserve such an office. Instead they kept a round table of counselors – seven of them, for the seven kingdoms that had been brought together as one again.  
  
It was to these men and women that Jon brought Ser Loras and Petyr Baelish. Once they were bound to chairs and stripped of any and all weapons and armor, he sent Brienne and Jaime to help gather the Queen of Thorns and the Lady Margaery.  
  
The counselors all appeared as shocked as Jon himself had been to see Petyr Baelish, and to see Loras Tyrell _with_ that man. "This is a grievous situation," tutted Hostor Blackwood, the Riverlands counselor. Sarella Sand of Dorne nodded her agreement.  
  
"If my lords and ladies will remember, all that I did was for the good of the kingdom," Littlefinger suddenly murmured.  
  
"You stop that racket!" cried Alys Karstark, her face red with fury.  
  
"Let him speak," Jon said quietly.  
  
Littlefinger spread his hands in what appeared to be supplication. "I only ask that you show me the mercy you would show other _so-called_ traitors, and send me to the Wall."  
  
"Did word not reach you wherever you were hiding, you little rat?" Alys spat at him. "The Wall does not need to be manned as it once was, not now that the Queen and King Consort have removed the Others and the White Walkers from being threats to the kingdom and have joined the former wildlings with the people of Westeros. And we no longer use it as a punishment, either. Not after what happened to Lord Commander Mormont."  
  
Jon gave her a calm smile. "Lady Karstark is correct, Baelish. It's the block for you, but do not fret. My sword is of Valyrian steel, and I assure you I keep it quite sharp. I do my own executing, you see…just as my uncle once did.  
  
Just then Jaime and Brienne pushed into the room with the Ladies Olenna and Margaery. Jaime had sustained a head wound that was bleeding profusely; he was also limping. _Sansa won't be happy about this._  
  
"We met with some of Baelish's gold cloaks," Brienne explained with a rueful smile.  
  
"They won't be flocking to your side anytime soon, Littlefinger," Jaime growled.  
  
"Ah, well, at least they put up a fight," Baelish shrugged.  
  
The Queen of Thorns was looking daggers at them all. "I demand to know the meaning of this! My granddaughter and I have not seen this man since he left King's Landing to marry Lysa Arryn. Release us at once!"  
  
"I think not," Jon frowned. "And I suggest that you hold your tongue, Lady Olenna. We are going to set you and your grandchildren up in some chambers that befit people of your station. Should you choose to cooperate with us regarding this matter, you will have a trial and receive no more than your proper sentence. But this will only happen if you cooperate. Do you understand?" He looked first to the old woman, then to each of her grandchildren in turn - wide-eyed, seemingly innocent Margaery and sullen, silent Loras Tyrell. When none of them responded he simply said, "Good," and nodded to the four members of Dany's Queensguard for whom he'd called. They removed the Tyrells from the room, two for Loras and one each for Olenna and Margaery. "I will take care of Littlefinger myself, this evening. Jaime, Brienne, why don't you go to see the Maester, have him tend your wounds. And then you can fetch Sansa, Clegane, Ser Jorah and the Queen. I'm sure they will all want to see this."


	29. Act 2, Scene 14 - SANDOR

Truth be told, when he'd encouraged Sansa to speak he'd not expected her to immediately bring up Cersei _fucking_ Lannister of all people. But now that she'd asked, he knew he ought to tell the truth...or risk losing the little bird forever.  
  
"Not much to say, really," he admitted sheepishly. "She was beautiful, and several years older than me to boot. I know now who she was, _what_ she was, but back then I was just an ugly little squire who'd never had a pretty girl smile and talk to him like that. I won't deny that I was her dog more than I was Joffrey's, and why not? She knew that once she'd hooked me, she owned me. That's how Cersei was. I knew the truth of her long before we ever traveled to Winterfell, but it was you, little bird - who you are and what she did to you - that broke the fragile strings that held that attachment together." He didn't know what else he could say beyond that, and when he chanced a look at Sansa he saw her jaw working as she pondered the matter.  
  
Sandor stopped walking and withdrew his arm from her grasp, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. "Little bird..." he began, but then she turned her Tully blue eyes up to him and whatever he'd been about to say fled from his mind. Instead he drew her toward him and kissed her. It was the first time he'd ever done so, the first time he'd ever understood that if he did she would not push him away. Though her response was tentative at first, when he eased her mouth open with his tongue she fairly melted into him. Sandor held her body hard against his, feeling her supple curves through the thin fabric of her daytime gown, wondering how he could ever possibly stop holding her, stop kissing her...  
  
Suddenly the little bird was squirming in his arms. She broke the kiss that he wouldn't have been able to end himself and glared up at him. "That is _not_ fair," she said, punching his shoulder with her little fist. "You can't just _kiss_ me and expect me to forget about...about all of this."  
  
He pulled her close again, too close for her to hit him, so close that when he bent his face toward hers the tips of their noses nearly touched. "I'm not asking you to forget, little bird. I'm only asking you to understand. And I kissed you because I've been wanting to kiss you for quite some time now. Haven't stopped thinking about it since we were forced apart the other night."  
  
Sansa's eyes seemed to soften at these words. "Me either," she whispered.  
  
"Well, are you going to let me kiss you again, then?" Sandor chuckled.  
  
"I suppose," Sansa acceded; but before he could claim her mouth with his she pulled her head back. "Sandor..."  
  
"Yes, little bird," he sighed. _Seven hells, just let me kiss you, let me kiss you and forget that we'll have to part soon_.  
  
"I...I thought it might be best to not...to not make this request...but now I think perhaps, as it's only temporary..."  
  
"Out with it, little bird," Sandor encouraged, realizing that he sounded frustrated when he really felt something akin to excitement. He could not help but recall what Jaime had mentioned mere hours before...  
  
"I would be delighted if you would return to Winterfell with me." The words spilled from Sansa's mouth as if she was afraid to speak them, afraid of what his answer may be. "I need only remain there until Rickon is of age, until I can be assured that he is mature enough to be a lord - _the_ lord...and then..."  
  
"And then what?" he teased, bending to brush his lips down the edge of her ear, under its lobe and along the edge of her jaw line, only stopping when his lips touched hers as he continued, "What could Winterfell possibly give me that I do not have at Clegane Keep?"If he'd thought to annoy her, he failed miserably. He could see the playful glint in the little bird's eyes as she replied, "A godswood. A heart tree. And me waiting there for you in a maiden's cloak with vows on my lips…if you'll have me."  
  
" _If_ I'll have you?" Sandor murmured, reaching up to tuck a loose lock of Sansa's auburn hair behind her ear. "Little bird, I thought you'd never ask."


	30. Act 2, Scene 15 - SANSA

  
"All right, everybody, watch the gate," Sansa insisted, smiling down at her two oldest children as she bounced baby Catelyn on her hip.  
  
"Steady now," Sandor chuckled as he laid a large hand on their oldest son Eddard's shoulder. "Hold it."  
  
The little six-year-old boy squirmed in his father's grasp. "Whyyyy?" he whined. "I want to go play."  
  
"There's visitors on their way," Sansa reminded him. "They'll be coming through our gate any moment.  
  
"Visitors?"  
  
"Why, Queen Daenerys and the King Consort, your second cousin Jon. They're bringing little Rhaegar with them as well...he's naught but a year and a half older than you. But if you don't start behaving, you're going to take a nap."  
  
Eddard frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, but at least he didn't protest any more. Sansa glanced at her husband; his mouth was twitching, but it was in amusement rather than anger, which was usual these days. She then looked to Jaime and Brienne, standing just behind; the latter appeared as stalwart as usual, but Jaime's eyes were sparkling with mischief. She wondered how much sugar her sons had gotten into this morning with the help of their one-handed friend.  
  
They heard Jon's voice first. "Careful now, Darling. Careful. It's a bit slippery."  
  
"Yes, yes," Dany replied impatiently. Dragon Queen she may be, yet still Sansa's cousin treated his wife as if she was made of porcelain.  
  
Sansa stepped forward to welcome them. "Come in, come in! If you'll just step into the solar, I'll see about refreshments...there are some lemoncakes in the kitchens, I'd bet. Clegane Keep is no Winterfell, I know, but at least it's much closer to King's Landing."  
  
"That it is," Jon grinned, clapping Sandor on the back. The corner of Sansa's mouth curled up at her husband's uncomfortable grimace; he liked Jon well enough, but to him a royal visit was more a necessary evil than anything else.  
  
"Oh, may I hold her?" Dany asked, reaching for little Catelyn.  
  
"Of course," Sansa smiled, almost relieved to have her arms free, as such a thing did not happen often for her these days.  
  
"Oh, no doubt about it...she's got her mother's eyes," Dany smiled, then ran her hand over the baby's soft dark head of hair. "But there's a bit of her father in her, too."  
  
"There is," Sansa agreed, giving her only girl child a soft kiss on the cheek. Eddard and Robb looked more Stark and Clegane than like their mother, and they were rowdy little boys at that. Catelyn was Sansa's sweet little lady, though Sansa vowed that her daughter would learn more than just songs and stories and needlework. Sansa glanced at Rhaegar and Eddard, who seemed to be sizing each other up.  
  
"I'm to be king one day, a good king just like my mother. You can't be a king, but I suppose you can be a knight. And a lord." Rhaegar seemed truly sad for Eddard, and Sansa and Dany shared a girlish giggle.  
  
"I'll be lord, sure, of Clegane Keep," Eddard said proudly. "But I don't want to be no knight." His lip curled at the very thought, and this time Sansa found herself not looking to her friend and Queen but to her lord and husband. Sandor's eyes met hers and everything she'd ever needed was in that one small glance.  
  
There was no doubt about it; Sansa Clegane was well and truly _happy_.

  


**THE END :)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now...obviously some of these are SUPER loosely based, haha. I also had to take some story points (i.e. who Lady/Sansa finds out about Tramp/Sandor's past from) and give them to different characters, in a way, because otherwise it would have made no sense.
> 
> CAST: (with the left column being the L&tT character and the right being the ASOIAF character/fic character)
> 
> Lady.......Sansa  
> Tramp.......Sandor  
> Darling.......Dany  
> Jim Dear.......Jon  
> Jock.......Brienne  
> Trusty.......Jaime (they're both impaired, get it? Trusty has "lost his sense of smell" and Jaime has lost his sword hand? heh, heh)  
> Aunt Sarah.......Lady Olenna  
> Siamese Cats.......Margaery & Loras  
> The rat that attacks the baby.......Petyr  
> Peg the Pekingese.......Sandor's squire Aegon  
> Bull the Bulldog.......Sandor's squire Brandon  
> Lulu/Trixie/Fifi/Rosita Chiquita Juanita Chihuahua.......Cersei
> 
> ...and I think that's about it :)


End file.
